UC-NRLF 


II 

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THE   DE  s^ELOPMENT 


OF  THE 


Nattjre-Sense 


TM 


THE  G      MAN  LYRIC 


.^JW'  .J^.^^W.^^ 


BY    ARTHUR   B.    COOKK 
PH,    D. 


THE  DEVELOPMENT 


THE  NATURE-SENSE 


THE  GERMAN  LYRIC 


A  COMPAKTSON  OF  THE  TWO  GREAT  LYRIC  PERIODS. 


SUBMITTED    TO    THE    FACUI^TY    OF    THE    UNIVERSITY   OF   VIRGINIA 

IN   CANDIDACY    FOR    THE    DEGREE    OF 

DOCTOR   OF  PHILOSOPHY 


ARTHUR  B.  COOKE. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  VIR&INIA  STUDIES  IN  TEUTuUIC  LAN&UASES :  NO,  3. 


BARNES.  19  MAONOLlA  STREET 
»P»bTANBURG,  S.  C, 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  MOTHER. 

WHO  TAUGHT  ME  TO   LOVE 
BOOKB  AND  NATURE. 


p-rrs^^^ 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS, 


Page 

1.    Introduction 5-13 

[I.    The  Seasons 14-34 

Til.    Birds  and  Flowers 35-46 

IV.    The    Heavens    .  .     47-55 

V.    Mountains,  Sea  and  Storms 56-65 

VI.    Personification  of  Nature 66-78 

VII.  Man's  Mood  Reflected  by  Nature 79-94 

VIII.    Nature  as   Background 95-106 

IX    Landscape 107-116 

X.    Conclusion 117 

XL   Vita 118 

XII.    Books  of  Reference 119 


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I— INTRODUCTION. 

More  servants  wait  on  man 

Than  he'll  take  note  of:  in  ev'ry  path 

He  treads  down  that  which  doth   befriend   him, 

When  sickness  makes  him  pale  and  wan, 

O  mighty  love!  Man  is  one  world  and  hath 

Another  to  attend  him . 

—G.  Herbert. 

To  the  student  of  literature,  interested  in  every  force  that 
operates  upon  it  to  color  its  pages,  no  theme  should  be  more 
engaging  than  the  influence  of  Nature.  It  may  be  doubted 
whether  any  other  single  influence  is  so  important.  Wars, 
revolutions,  crusades,  migrations,  are  national,  or  at  most 
international,  and  are  temporal  in  their  direct  influence;  but 
the  influence  of  Nature  is  confined  to  nation  nor  time.  In 
the  beginning  of  things  man  was  laid  in  the  lap  of  Nature, 
and  with  every  breath  he  drew  life  from  her  bosom,  and  that 
influence  deepened  when  the  nurse  had  become  a  companion, 
and  deepens  as  man's  life  grows  deeper  even  to  the  present 
day.  "Who  can  guess,''  says  Emerson  "how  much  firmness 
the  sea-beaten  rock  has  taught  the  fisherman?  how  much 
tranquility  has  been  reflected  to  man  from  the  azure  sky, 
over  whose  unspotted  deeps  the  winds  forever  drive  flocks  of 
clouds  and  leave  no  wrinkle  nor  stain?  how  much  industry 
and  providence  and  affection  we  have  caught  from  the  pan- 
tomine  of  brutes?" 

A  glance  at  the  proverbs  and  common  words  of  any  lang- 
uage will  show  how  far  beyond  the  confines  of  mere  litera- 
ture this  influence  has  penetrated,  into  life,  of  which  litera- 
ture is  but  an  imperfect  reflection.  In  our  own  language, 
for  example,  those  expressions  which  have  taken  such  a  hold 
upon  the  people  as  to  become  proverbs  are  drawn  largely 
from  Nature,  e.  g.,  "It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no  one  any 
good,"  "the  darkest  hour  is  just  before  dawn,"  "a  bird  in 
the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush,"  "still  water  runs  deep,'' 
"the  early  bird  catches  the  worm,"  "as  the  twig  is  bent,  so 
the  tree  is  inclined,"  "one  swallow  doesn't  make  a  summer." 


6  THE    DEVBtOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Many  of  these  proverbs  are  not  peculiar  to  us,  but  are  the 
common  property  of  several  peoples.  Their  authors  are  un- 
known; they  seem  always  to  have  been  accepted.  Just  as  the 
myth  of  Tell  is  understood  wherever  the  spirit  of  liberty  is 
known,  these  proverbs  are  understood  wherever  man  has  ob- 
served Nature.  The  words  of  common  speech  are  often  re- 
flections from  Nature.  We  speak  of  disposition  as  bright, 
gloomy,  stormy,  calm;  of  character  as  m;>W^A^  or  crooked — all, 
borrowing  from  Nature.  Our  whole  language  is  adorned 
with  figures  of  speech  drawn  from  the  natural  world. 

Not  only  was  the  infancy  of  the  race  cradled  in  the  lap 
of  Nature,  but  every  people  has  also  had  its  cradle  there,  and 
has  grown  up  with  an  ever  increasing  recognition  of  the 
world  in  which  it  moved ;  and  as  the  people  found  in  litera- 
ture an  expression  of  their  life,  this  recognition  was  echoed 
there  in  its  varying  degrees. 

It  is  such  a  growth  in  the  sense  of  Nature  among  the  Ger- 
man people  that  this  essay  attempts  to  consider.  It  does  not 
claim  to  be  exhaustive,  but  rather  suggestive  along  the  larger 
lines  of  tendency.  It  is  not  a  chronological  consideration  of 
authors,  but  a  comparison  of  periods:  for  by  a  comparison  of 
periods  it  has  seemed  possible  to  bring  out  most  clearly  the 
development  of  the  nature-sense.  The  lyric  field  is  admira- 
ble for  such  a  study,  since  we  may  hope  to  find  there  the 
clearest  expression  of  this  sense.  The  essay  will  be  devoted, 
therefore,  to  the  lyrists  of  the  12th  and  13th  and  14th  centu- 
ries, comparing  them  with  the  lyrists  of  the  i8th  and  19th 
centuries. 

It  must  be  recognized  that  in  thus  putting  the  two  periods 
together  in  comparison,  the  later  period  would  have  a  great 
advantage,  due  to  the  recent  strides  in  natural  science  and 
the  quickened  interest  in  Nature  and  knowledge  of  it,  inci- 
dent thereto.  But  a  study  of  the  periods  shows  a  poverty  of 
nature-sense  in  the  early  period  which  cannot  be  explained 
on  this  ground. 

A  knowledge  of  the  life  which  the  Minnesingers  led,  and 
the  peculiar  opportunities  which  that  life  offered  for  intimate 
observation  of  Nature,  invites  us  to  look  more  closely  into 


IN  THE    GERMAN   LYRIC  7 

the  causes  of  this  marked  indifference  towards  the  natural 
world  which  is  evidenced  by  their  writings. 

An  age  may  have  an  aversion  to  the  country,  such  as 
marked  the  i8th  century  in  England,  when  "no  person  of 
sense  would  live  six  miles  out  of  lyondon. ' '  From  such  an 
age  of  writers  shut  up  in  town  one  might  expect  the  senti- 
ment that  "the  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man."  But  such 
was  not  the  case  of  the  Minnesingers.  They  were  wand- 
erers, spending  a  part  of  their  time  at  court  and  a  part  on  the 
country-ways,  with  every  opportunity  for  their  sense  to  be 
quickened  by  contrast,  with  every  opportunity  to  learn  Na- 
ture at  first  hand.  Yet,  with  few  exceptions,  their  references 
to  Nature  show  no  individual  contact,  have  no  more  coloring 
than  if  the  writers  had  made  them  sitting  by  the  fireside. 
There  is  little  individuality.  All  borrow^  from  the  common 
stereotyped  stock  of  phrases,  none  add  to  it.  Each  succeed- 
ing singer  harps  upon  the  same  chords.  The  stock  in  trade 
is  the  rose  and  lily  and  violet;  the  nightingcde  and  cuckoo,  with 
an  occasional  eagle  or  lark,-  sunshine  or  moonlight  or  star- 
light: joyous  spring,  dreary  winter. 

The  limitation  of  these  poets  is  more  striking  when  we 
consider  the  extent  of  their  travel.  They  were  not  confined 
to  a  small  district;  many  travelled  to  Svntzerland ,  Italy 
and  Palestine.  They  saw  the  Alps,  the  Italian  sky,  and  the 
Mediterranean.  Yet  all  this  evoked  from  them  not  one  ref- 
erence to  mountains  or  seas,  nor  one  description  of  a  land- 
scape. The  Crusades  widened  the  horizon  of  trade,  science, 
thought,  indeed  opened  a  new  era  in  history;  but  they  did 
not  open  men's  minds  on  the  side  of  nature.  Alfred  Biese 
says  in  his  book  Naturge.fuehl  (p.  88)  — I  translate  here  as 
elsewhere — "Although  the  actual  and  practical  must  chiefly 
engage  the  historian,  it  is  nevertheless  remarkable  to  the 
modern  reader  how  little  apparent  impression  the  Nature  of 

the  Holy  Land  made  upon  the  Crusader the  references 

to  Nature  in  the  reports  are  always  lacking."  In  the  same 
connection  he  cites  (p.  117)  this  from  W.  Grimm,  "The 
question  whether  contact  with  Southern  Italy,  or  through 
the  Crusades  with  Asia   Minor,  Syria,   and   Palestine  has  not 


8  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

enriched  German  poesy  with  new  nature-pictures,  can  in 
general  be  answered  only  in  the  negative." 

So  clear  a  critic  as  J.  A.  Symonds  is  yet  misleading  in  this 
characterization  of  the  Minnesongs:  "The  magic  of  May 
pervades  them,  the  mystery  of  the  woodland  enfolds  them. 
They  are  the  utterances  of  generations  for  whom  life  has  re- 
vived, who  have  escaped  the  winter  of  their  discontent  and 
bondage,  to  whom  the  world  is  once  more  full  of  wonder- 
breeding  interest."  If  this  is  taken  to  mean  merely  that  the 
Minnesong  is  a  departure  from  the  spirit  of  the  preceding 
centuries;  if  the  term  "May,"'  "woodland,"  &c.,  are  used 
figuratively  to  indicate  the  blithe,  free  spirit  that  pervades  the 
songs  of  this  period,  then  the  criticism  is  not  far  from  cor- 
rect. But  if  we  are  led  by  it  to  expect  a  strong,  fresh  savor 
of  May  and  tJie  woodland  themselves — an  acute  sense  of  Na- 
ture— then  we  are  misled  entirely.  A  careful  examination  of 
these  lyrics  fails  to  reveal  "the  magic  of  May"  or  "the  mys- 
tery of  the  woodland. ' '  There  is  scarcely  an  ecstasy  over 
Nature  or  even  a  delight  in  her  for  her  own  sake  in  the  whole 
range  of  Minnesong.  The  spring-tide  of  nature-love  was  not 
advanced  to  the  full  tide  of  May;  it  was  rather  the  early, 
weak  and  spasmodic  Sowings  before  the  chill  of  winter  had 
been  wholly  cast  off. 

Bayard  Taylor,  too,  overshoots  the  mark  when  he  says  in 
/Studies  in  German  Literature  (p.  60),  "It  is  a  bright,  ani- 
mated, eventful  age  which  we  find  represented  in  the  litera- 
ture  of  the   Minnesingers original   because  reaped  on 

fresh  fields  by  fresh  hands;  and  with  a  direct  impress  of  Na- 
ture, which  we  find  for  the  first  time  in  any  literature." 
And  again  (p.  31),  "the  latter  (Minnesingers)  sang  of  love 
and  sorrow  and  the  influence  of  Nature;  (p.  39),  He  (Walter) 
was  one  of  the  very  first,  not  merely  to  describe  nature  and 
rural  life,  but  to  express  a  sweet  and  artless  delight  in  her 
manifold  aspects- '' 

The  facts  do  not  justify  such  an  assertion;  for,  firstly,  the 
Greeks  and  Hebrews  had  a  marked  nature-sense;  and,  sec- 
ondly, Walter's  appreciation  cannot  be  called  an  "artless  de- 
light in  her  manifold  aspects;"  it  is  immature  and  artificial. 


IN    THE   GERMAN    I.YRIC  9 

scarcely  overstepping  the  very  narrow  scope  of  his  contempo- 
raries. Biese,  a  more  careful  and  conservative  critic  says 
(p.  118),  "Indeed,  even  the  greatest  among  the  Minnesing- 
ers, the  master  of  the  lyric  of  the  13th  century,  Walter,  does 
not  overstep  the  narrow  bounds  of  the  nature-sense  of  his 
time."  On  the  poverty  of  the  nature-sense  of  this  period 
another  German  critic  of  great  authority  speaks  in  no  un- 
certain voice.  Says  W.  Grimm,  "The  German  poets  of  this 
epoch  (Crusades)  have  nowhere  given  themselves  to  a  spec- 
ial consideration  of  Nature a   sense  of  Nature  was  not 

lacking,  to  be  sure,  in  the  old  German  masters:  but  they  left 
us  no  other  expression  of  this  sense  than  that  which  a  con- 
nection with  historic  events  permitted." 

There  is,  in  fact,  with  rare  exception,  no  evidence  of  Na- 
ture for  Nature's  sake  at  this  time.  When  the  spring  was 
welcomed,  it  was  because  the  poet  might  then  visit  his  mis- 
tress. The  winter  was  hateful  because  it  kept  him  from  her. 
Flowers  bloomed  only  when  he  walked  with  her,  in  fact  or 
fancy,  in  the  meadow,  and  then  only  lilies  and  roses,  as  if  no 
other  flowers  grew  there.  (One  is  tempted  to  believe  that 
the  bard  really  never  went  there  to  see;  that  the  flowers  of 
the  Minnisingers  are,  indeed,  artificial,  made  in  the  shop, 
not  gathered  fresh  from  the  field.)  The  nightingale  sang 
only  by  his  love's  window,  and  for  her  delectation,  and  then 
in  a  very  monotonous  strain.  Nature  was,  for  the  old  poet, 
accessory  to  love,  and  those  aspects  of  nature  which  could 
not  be  used  in  love-song  were  to  him  unknown.  He  is  silent 
as  to  the  larger,  grander  phases  of  Nature,  storms,  moun- 
tains, seas,  broad  expanse  of  sky  or  earth.  "An  individual 
conception  of  the  landscape  fails  completely"  says  Biese,  (p. 
i6)  "a  feeling  for  Nature  that  seeks  her  on  her  own  account 

has  not  yet  arisen the  charm  of  Nature  herself  without 

reference  to  other  things,  joy  in  her  for  her  sake,  has  not  yet 
been  revealed  to  the  time. ' ' 

It  may  be  doubted  whether  there  was  at  this  period  any 
sense  of  Nature  in  her  broad  general  aspect.  The  old  poet 
had  no  conception  of  the  tout  ensemble  in  Nature.  He  saw 
individual  things,  but  did  not  see  them  in  their  setting;  he 


lO  THE    DSVKLOPMKNT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

mentions  flower,  brook,  birdsong;  he  saw  minor  things, 
things  at  hand.  He  gives  no  evidence  of  abihty  to  grasp 
Nature  in  "her  manifold  aspects."  He  hears  one  note  at  a 
time,  not  Nature's  harmony.  His  landscape,  if  his  vague 
outlines  can  be  dignified  as  such,  is  quite  colorless  and  mea- 
ger— a  meadow  and  flowers  being  the  usual  scene,  repro- 
duced with  wearying  monotony  by  the  succeedings  poets. 

This  poverty  in  the  early  German  song  is  worthy  of  con- 
sideration, and  invites  us  to  seek  the  underlying  causes.  In 
some  respects  these  poets  had  better  opportunities  to  feel  the 
influence  of  Nature  than  had  the  later  period,  for  the  rap- 
idity of  travel  in  later  years  tends  to  militate  against  a  study 
of  landscape.  Mr.  Gladstone  has  happily  said,  "Once  the 
traveller  was  bathed  in  Italy,  now  he  is  dashed  by  her  spray. ' ' 

One  cause  that  has  operated  to  produce  in  part  this  apathy 
towards  Nature  may  be  designated  as  geographic  or  climatic. 
The  short  summer  of  northern  Germany,  the  long  winter 
with  its  leaden  sky,  have  wrought  their  effect  upon  the  na- 
ture of  the  people,  till  they  have  become  phlegmatic,  philos- 
ophic, dreamers  perhaps.  The  bright  sky  and  warm  climate 
ot  Southern  France  are  reflected  in  the  quick,  passionate  dis- 
position of  the  people.  These  differences  of  disposition  may 
be  traced  in  the  literatures  of  the  Minnesingers  and  the  Trou- 
badours. 

But  this  cause  does  not  explain  the  discrepancies  between 
different  periods  of  the  same  place  and  people,  such  as  are 
seen  on  a  comparison  of  the  Minnesingers  with  the  earlier 
writers,  in  whom  there  is  clearly  a  stronger  sense  of  Nature. 
For  one  of  the  most  potent  causes  we  must  look  deeper  into 
the  times. 

The  nature-sense  of  the  Greeks,  though  essentially  differ- 
ent from  that  of  our  own  time,  was  scarcely  second  to  the 
latter  in  freshness  and  force-  They  had  so  personified  all 
the  phenomena  of  the  natural  world  that  they  looked  upon 
these  as  persons.  The  flower  was  Narcissus  gazing  upon  his 
reflection  in  the  pool,  or  it  was  Hyacinthus.  The  winds 
were  real  spirits,  each  with  his  own  character— fierce  Boreas 
and  the  rest.     The  moon  and  the  stars  skimming  behind  the 


IN    THE    GERMAN    I^YRIC  II 

clouds  were  Diana  and  her  nymphs  on  the  hunt.  The  god- 
dess and  her  train  were  in  the  bath,  when  moon  and  stars 
were  reflected  in  the  fountain.  The  hollow  sounding  waves 
were  Tritons,  blowing  their  conch-shell  horns.  Nature  was 
to  the  Greek  a  world  of  personalities,  with  passions  and  emo- 
tions like  his  own.  And  this  feeling  of  affinity  with  Nature 
was  handed  down  in  modified  form  even  into  Roman  litera- 
ture. 

But  with  the  advent  of  the  Christian  era  came  a  new  atti- 
tude towards  the  natural  world,  an  attitude  of  antipathy  and 
hostility.  To  the  early  Christian  the  natural  world  was 
under  the  curse,  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the  devil, 
used  once  to  work  man's  destruction,  likely  to  prove  a  snare 
again;  a  thing  to  be  shunned,  a  thing  to  be  renounced  along 
with  the  Spirit  of  evil.  The  attitude  of  these  centuries  is 
expressed  in  the  Chancellor's  reply  to  Mephisto  in  the  second 
part  of  Faust, 

Nature  and  Mind  --to  Christians  we  don't  speak  so. 
Thence  to  burn  Atheists  we  seek  so, 
For  such  discourses  very  dangerous  be. 
Nature  is  Sin,  and  Mind  is  Devil. 

—  Taylor's  Trans.,  II,  U. 

This  hostility  towards  Nature  continued  far  down  the  cen- 
turies— its  traces  remaining  even  in  our  own  day.  Which  is 
the  more  remarkable,  seeing  that  the  Founder  of  the  new  be- 
lief had  taught  men  to  "consider  the  lilies  of  the  field"  and 
"behold  the  fowls  of  the  air.''  But  the  church  had  put  the 
world  under  the  ban,  and  what  the  mediaeval  church  de- 
nounced VMS  denounced. 

Under  such  an  influence  it  is  not  remarkable  that  the  minds 
of  men  were  slow  to  open  on  the  side  of  Nature.  Symonds 
says  in  Essays  Sjyeculative  and  Sug(/e»tive  (p.  297),  "Under 
the  prevalent  conceptions  of  the  universe  no  intelligent 
being  could  take  either  scientific  or  artistic  interest  in  a 
world  considered  radically  evil,  and  doomed  to  wrathful  over- 
throw. Man's  one  business  was  to  work  out  his  own  salva- 
tion, to  disengage  himself  from  the  earth  on  which  his  first 
parents  had  yielded  to  sin,  and  to  wean  his  heart  from  the 


12  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

enjoyment   of    terrestrial   delights The  phenomena   of 

Nature  were  vilipended  as  not  worth  a  thought."  "But" 
says  the  same  author,  '  'the  vacuum  created  by  the  demolition 
of  mythological  lumber  was  filled  to  some  extent  by  another 
set  of  polytheistic  deities,  Christ,  Mary,  Saints,  Martyrs, 
Angels,  Devils.  These,  however,  unlike  the  deities  of  pa- 
ganism had  no  relation  to  nature.  So  far  as  the  material 
universe  was  concerned,  that  remained  empty."  The  me- 
diaeval church  is,  therefore,  a  gap  between  the  old  and  the 
new  sense  of  Nature.  It  is  the  far  swing  of  the  pendulum 
against  Nature.  It  was  opposed  to  any  step  towards  the 
physical  world,  whether  in  science  or  in  art. 

The  accession  of  the  House  of  Hohenstauf  en  in  1 138  marks 
a  resistance  to  the  papal  power,  and  consequent  upon  this 
resistance,  a  shaking  off  of  the  fetters  which  had  bound  the 
minds  of  men  with  such  deadening  effect — a  renaissance  in 
German  literature. 

It  is,  as  it  were,  the  first  breaking  from  these  bonds,  the 
first  awakening  of  the  senses,  the  dropping  of  the  scales  from 
the  eyes,  which  we  find  manifested  in  the  writings  of  the 
Minnesingers.  It  is  the  first  movings  of  a  new  nature-sense 
in  literature,  movings  weak  and  uncertain,  in  which  there  is 
yet  scarcely  a  promise  of  the  coming  deep  current  of  sym- 
pathy towards  Nature  which  finds  its  perfect  expression  in 
Goethe  and  especially  Wordsworth — the  modern  pantheism 
which  replaces  the  many  of  the  old  Greeks  by  the  One.  The 
Minnesinger  viewed  Nature  from  outside.  His  attitude  was 
objective,  not  subjective.  He  noted  superficial  analogies 
between  man  and  Nature,  but  he  did  not  moralise;  he  did 
not  feel  an  affinity  between  himself  and  the  world  about  him. 
He  was  far  from  feeling  himself  and  that  world  one  sympa- 
thetic whole. 

The  early  centuries  had  set  Nature  over  against  God.  It 
.  was  a  far  call  from  this  attitude  to  the  one  which  finds  God 
in  all  the  world.  It  was  not  the  conversion  of  a  moment,  but 
a  tedious  growth.  Eight  centuries  have  scarcely  prepared 
the  way  for  "natural  law  in  the  spiritual  world."  It  was 
first  Wordsworth  whose  voice  echoed  back  the  words  of  the 


IN    THE    GERMAN    LYRIC  1 3 

Hebrew  singer,  "How  manifold  are  thy  works  !  in  wisdom 

hast  thou  made  them  all;  the  earth  is  full  of  thy  riches." 

For  the  first  ten  centuries  of  the  Christian  era  man  was 

alone  on  the  world's  stage  of  literature:  then  he  began  to  be 

supported  by  Nature.     The  following  pages  may  serve  to 

show  in  some  measure  to  what  extent  men  came  to  realize 

that 

"Man  is  one  world  and  hath 
Another  to  accompany  him." 

The  titles  of  the  following  divisions  indicate  approximately 
steps  in  the  orderly  development  of  the  nature-sense. 


II— THE    SEASONS. 

The  succession  of  the  seasons,  with  their  contrasts,  striking 
both  to  eye  and  feeling,  would  naturally  be  one  of  the  first 
phases  of  Nature  to  force  itself  upon  the  observation  of  men. 
This  is  substantiated  by  the  predominance  of  the  seasons  in 
early  nature- poetry.  And  the  season  which  appeals  most 
strongly  to  the  mind,  both  in  individuals  and  in  peoples,  is 

SPRING. 

The  number  of  references  to  spring  in  the  early  poets  ex- 
ceeds that  of  any  other  season.  Winter  claims  the  second 
place,  but  is  mentioned  only  for  complaint,  or  to  heighten 
spring  by  contrast.  Summer  is  frequently  noticed,  autumn 
much  more  rarely. 

This  predominance  of  spring  tends  to  show  that  the  old 
poet's  mention  of  Nature  was  not  due,  perhaps,  so  much  to  a 
real  appreciation  of  Nature  for  herself  as  it  was  to  the  phys- 
ical effect  which  Nature  produced  on  him.  And  this  is  man- 
ifest not  only  in  reference  to  the  seasons,  but  elsewhere. 

The  fact  that  in  riper  periods  of  literature  it  is  proportion- 
ately smaller,  and  when  found  there  belongs  rather  to  the 
earlier  years  of  the  poet,  tends  to  show  that  this  "rapture  of 
May"  is  largely  due  to /'Aysica/ exuberance. 

Tennyson  suggests  this  in  his  lines  (p.  io8): 

In  the  Spring  a  fuller  crimson  comes  upon  the  robin's  breast; 
In  the  Spring  the  wanton  lapwing  gets  himself  another  crest; 
In  the  Spring  a  livelier  iris  changes  on  the  burnished  dove; 
In  the  Spring  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of  love. 

The  early  poet  sang  of  spring  in  his  age,  to  be  sure,  but 
his  attitude  had  always  the  simplicity  of  the  childish  mind. 
Even  Walter,  the  most  virile  of  all  the  singers,  was  no 
pioneer  into  the  fields.  His  life  added  practically  nothing  to 
the  small  stock  of  nature-lore  of  that  day.  In  youth  it  was 
birds,  meadows,  Jloicers;  and  in  age  it  was  the  same  refrain. 
The  Minnesong,  in  its  artless  simplicity,  savors  of  perpetual 


m    THE    GERMAN    I.YRIC  1 5 

youth — that  is,   perpetual  immaturity.     Take,  for  example, 
Walter's  Memory  of  Spring,  out  of  his  later  years, 

Der  rife  tet  den  kleinen  vogelen  we, 

daz  sie  niht  ensungen, 

nu  horte  ich  s'aber  wiinnecliche  als  e: 

nu  ist  diu  heide  entsprungen. 

da  sach  ich  bluomen  striten  wider  den  kle, 

weder  ir  lenger  waere. 

miner  frouwen  seite  ich  disiu  maere- 

(Page  142.) 

There  is  nothing  here  that  shows  more  than  would  be  re- 
vealed to  a  casual  glance  of  the  eye  or  turn  of  the  ear.  The 
references  are  quite  colorless  and  have  no  individuality. 
There  is  no  sign  of  friendly  intimacy  which  alone  unlocks 
the  secrets  of  Natuie,  and  makes  her  every  feature  individual 
in  the  eyes  of  her  lover.  The  lines  are  drawn  in  dead  white 
and  black.  There  is  no  atmosphere,  to  use  an  artist's  term. 
It  is  such  a  flat  picture  as  a  child  might  draw  upon  its  slate. 

Compare    this    tribute  to  May  taken  from   Goethe's  later 

years, 

Leichte  Silberwolken  schweben 
Durche  die  erst  erwarmten  Liifte, 
Mild,  von  Schimmer  sanft  ungeben, 
Blickt  die  Sonne  durch  die  Diifte; 
Leise  wallt  und  drangt  die  Welle, 
Sich  am  reichen  Ufer  hin, 
Und  wie  reingewachsen  helle, 
Schwankend  hin  und  her  und  hin 
Spiegelt  sich  das  junge  Griin. 

(I,  page  394.) 

How  rich  and  varied  is  the  coloring  of  this  picture.  May 
is  not  mentioned;  no  need  of  it.  You  feel  it  in  the  very 
movement  of  the  verse;  you  see  it  in  the  very  atmosphere  of 
the  picture.  No  vague  generalities  here,  but  every  feature 
stamped  with  an  individuality  which  shows  direct,  sympa- 
thetic contact  with  nature.  Spring  for  Goethe  is  sky  and 
earth  and  dancing  water,  all  smiling  for  very  joy,  and  each 
in  its  own  inimitable  way. 

Deitmar  von  Eist's  tribute  consists  of  one  stanza,  whose 


1 6  THE   DKVBI<OPMBNT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

unique  distinction  is  that  it  is  dedicated  solely  to  Nature, 
omitting  love. 

Ahi  nil  kumet  uns  diu  zit, 
der  kleinen  vogelliue  sane. 
Es  gruonet  wol  diu  linde  breit, 
zergangen  ist  der  winter  lane 
Nu  siht  man  bluomen  wol  getan 
iieben  an  der  heide  ir  schin. 

(M.  F.  Page  33.) 

Of  a  kind  with  this  is  Heinrich  von  Veldegge's  song — 

In  dem  aberellen 

s6  die  bluomen  springen 

so  louben  die  linden 

und  gruonen  die  buochen, 

so  haben  ir  willen 

die  vogele  singen. 

(M.  F.  page  62.) 

Reinmar  scarcely  adds  a  touch  of  coloring  to  this  when  he 
sings — 

Ze  froiden  nahet  alle  tage 
der  welte  ein  wunneclichiu  zit, 
ze  senfte  maneges  herzen  klage 
die  nu  der  swaere  winter  git. 

(M.  F.  page  191.) 
Here  is  the  oft  heard  plaint  against  winter's  severity. 
Nithart  plays  upon  the  same  strings — - 

der  meie  mit  gewolde 
Den  winder  hat  verdrungen, 
die  bluomen  sint  entsprungen, 
Wie  schone  nahtegal,  etc. 

(D.  Iv.  page  105.) 

Der  Schenke  von  I^impurc  shows  a  slight  advance  beyond 
the  ranks  in  the  lines — 

Diu  heide  wunnecliche  stat 

mit  bluomen  maniger  leie, 

Sint  gel,  griien  rot,  sint  bla,  brun,  blanc, 

sint  wunneclich  entsprungen. 

(D.  L.  page  189;  M.  P.  page  181.) 

He  has  added  several  colors  to  the  conventional  "rot"  and 
"blanc",  known  to  his  fellowsingers. 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  1 7 

Examples  such  as  these  might  be  multiplied  without  limit, 
but  they  are  all  of  a  kind.  These,  selected  as  representative, 
may  serve  to  show  the  stereotyped  form  of  their  references. 
They  are  almost  utterly  without  individuality,  being  all  ap- 
parently borrowings  from  some  common  source  without 
addition.  If  it  be  true  that  no  two  persons  ever  see  the 
same  thing,  these  early  lyrists  could  not  have  gone  to  look 
at  Nature  for  themselves,  since  it  is  evident  that  they  record 
the  sariie  things.  Moreover  they,  with  few  exceptions, 
make  their  references  to  Nature  merely  introductory  to  a 
song  of  love  with  such  a  refrain  as 

Sost  min  wunne 

gar  ein  reine  saelic  wip, 

mich  froit  weder  loup  noch  sunne 

niht  wan  eine  ir  lip. 

(D.  L.  page  234.) 

The  lyre  of  Mercury  is  said  to  have  had  nine  strings,  but 
the  harp  on  which  the  Minnesinger  sang  of  Nature  had  fewer 
still,  and  on  these  each  harper  plays  till  it  becomes  monoto- 
nous. 

Take,  for  comparison,  a  few  examples  from  the  later  period. 
Schiller,  in  the  first  stanza  of  Klage  (%e.r  Ceres,  pictures  the 
advent  of  spring. 

1st  der  holde  L,enz  erschienen  ? 
Hat  die  Erde  sich  verjiingt  ? 
Die  besonnten  Hiigel  griinen 
Und  des  Eises  Rinde  springt 
Aus  der  Strome  blauem  Spiegel 
Lacht  der  unbewolkte  Zeus, 
Milder  wehen  Zephyrs  Fliigel, 
Augen  treibt  das  junge  Reis. 

(I,  page  139.) 

Not  ./?otoer*^  and  hirdsong  make  the  Spring  now,  but  some- 
thing not  dreamed  of,  much  less  seen,  by  the  old  bard.s — the 
whole  world  of  Nature,  from  the  least  to  the  greatest  features 
— the  budding  twig,  the  winged  wind,  the  stream's  mirror, 
the  verdant  sunny  hills,  the  earth  herself,  and  cloudless  Zeus, 
make  up  the  rich  landscape  where  Spring  has  made  her 
advent,  and  every  one  of  these  features  is  pulsing  with  life. 


1 8  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Here  are  lines  from  Heine's  early  life; 

Der  Mai  ist  da  mit  seinen  goldnen  Lichtern 
Und  seidnen  Liiften  und  gewiirzten  Diiften 
Und  freundlich  lockt  er  mit  den  weissen  Bliiten, 
Und  griisst  aiis  tausend  blauen  Veilchenaugen 
Und  breitet  aus  den  blumreich  griinen  Teppich, 
Durchwebt  mit  Sonnenschein  und  Morgentau. 

(I,  page  135.) 
The  qualities  here  noted  are  not  the  superficial,  revealed  to 
the  casual  eye,  but  rather  the  secrets  of  Nature,  revealed  by 
real  communion,  the  "golden  lights,"  the  "silky  air,"  "spicy 
frag^rance,'  and  the  "green  flower-flecked  carpet  woven 
through  with  sunshine  and  morning  dew."  How  fresh  and 
original.     The  fragrance  of  May  is  there. 

The  following  stanza  from  Herders  "Friihlingslied," 
is  cited  as  a  contrast  to  The  Minnesinger's  stereotyped  treat- 
ment of  winter,  the  enemy  of  spring: 

Der  Schnee  zerschmilzt,  der  Friihling  kommt 

Mit  seiner  Blumen  Schar, 

Und  Busch  und  Baum  ist  jung  und  griin 

Und  bliihend  wie  er  war, 

Von  Bergen  rauscht  der  Strom  nicht  mehr 

Mit  wilder  Fluten  Fall; 

In  seinen  Ufern  murmelt  er, 

Ein  schleichender  Kristall. 

(II,  page  113.) 
There  is  no   bitterness  against  winter   in  these  lines,  but 
that  larger  mind  which  finds  in  the  winter  of  life  a  wholesome 
balance  to  the  more  pleasant  spring. 

The  poets  of  the  later  period  do  sometimes  sing  to  the 
simple  notes  of  Nature,  and  with  a  wild  abandon,  as  Goethe 
in  his  earlier  "Mailied" — 

Es  dringen  Bliiten 
Aus  jedem  Zweig 
Und  tausend  Stimmen 
Aus  dem  Gestrauch, 
Und  Freud  und  Wonne 
Aus  jeder  Brust 
O  Erd,  o  Sonne  ! 
O  Gliick,  o  I,ust. 

(I,  page  48.) 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  1 9 

Or  Heine — 

Im  wonderschonen  Monat  Mai, 
Als  alle  Knospen  sprangen, 
Da  ist  in  meinem  Herzen 
Die  Liebe  aufgegangen. 

(I,  page  66.) 

Or  Chamisso — 

Der  Friihling  ist  kommen,  die  Erde  erwacht, 
Es  bliihen  der  Blumen  genung. 
Ich  habe  schon  wieder  auf  Lieder  gedacht, 
Ich  fiihle  so  frisch  mich,  so  juug. 

(Page  43^ 

The  last  is  very  like  the  older  poets  in  confiding  his  song 
to  the  simpler  themes  of  hirdsong,  flowers,  green  hedge;  but 
with  originality  of  treatment  not  found  with  them.  In  this 
he  is  followed  often  by  Uhland,  Biirger,  Lenau  and  Korner. 

To  sum  up  in  a  few  words:  The  later  period  is  both  broader 
in  view  and  deepei  in  insight  into  nature  and  more  individual 
in  treatment  than  the  earlier  period.  To  use  a  permissible 
figure — the  song  of  the  old  bard  is  simple  and  monotonous, 
like  the  music  of  the  crude  lyre  on  which  he  played  accom- 
paniment— the  song  of  the  new  bard  is  the  full  gamut  of  the 
Aeolian  harp. 

WINTER. 

The  Minnesinger  knows  nothing  of  winter  except  in  a 
negative  way,  as  the  enemy  of  spring  and  summer,  the  de- 
stroyer of  flowers  and  the  nightingale,  the  robber  of  the 
leaves,  and  the  bringer  of  death  to  the  world. 

It  brought  no  pleasures  for  him,  and  had  no  beauty  what- 
ever. We  cannot  think  of  him  singing  '  'the  snow,  the  snow, 
the  beautiful  snow. "  It  had  nothing  in  harmony  with  the 
one  theme  of  his  song,  he  could  not  make  it  accessory  to 
love.  It  would  have  remained,  therefore,  unmentioned  in 
his  verse,  as  were  the  storm  and  the  mountain,  but  that  it 
came  to  take  away  those  things  which  were  in  harmony  with 
love — the  flowers  and  birds.  It  intruded  upon  his  domain  as 
an  unwelcome  visitor,  and  his  mention  of  it  is  always  a  plaint 
over  the  ravages  of  winter,  a  shudder  in  verse.     The  languid 


20  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

air  of  spring  and  summer  is  more  in  keeping  with  his  mood 
than  the  bracing  breath  of  winter  which  incites  to  the  vigor- 
ous action  of  manhood  and  the  pursuit  of  hardy  sport.  With 
these  latter  he  seems  to  have  no  acquaintance,  though  skat- 
ing, at  least,  was  known  at  this  da3\  He  did  not  woo  Nature 
in  her  sterner  moods,  and  "faint  heart  ne'er  won  fair  lady" 
in  Nature's  realm.  The  writer  has  seen  in  North  Germany 
winter  landscapes  worthy  the  poet's  pen,  undulating  fields  of 
snow,  studded  with  frost-covered  or  ice-laden  trees  that 
shimmered  like  crystal  in  the  sun.  The  storm-king  sporting 
with  the  snow-burdened  lannenhaum  against  a  background 
of  blue  sky,  would  certainly  have  arrested  the  eye  of  the 
nature-lover,  but  a  lover  of  Nature  the  old  poet  was  not,  and 
he  did  not  see  it.  Indeed,  it  is  rather  remarkable  how  late 
in  the  literature  is  the  appearance  of  a  love  for,  and  appre- 
ciation of,  winter.  The  19th  century  writers  often  draw 
back  from  winter  with  a  shiver.  That  appreciation  is  tardy 
which  is  voiced  by  Burns:  "There  is  scarcely  anj'  earthly 
object  which  gives  me  more — I  don't  know  if  I  should  call  it 
pleasure,  but  something  which  exalts  me,  something  which 
enraptures  me,  than  to  walk  on  the  sheltered  side  of  a  wood 
or  high  plantation  in  a  cloudy  winter  day,  and  hear  the  storm- 
wind  howling  among  the  trees";  or  by  Emerson,  "Crossing 
a  bare  common,  in  snow  puddles,  at  twilight,  under  a  clouded 
sky,  without  having  in  my  thoughts  any  occurrence  of  spe- 
cial good  fortune,  I  have  enjoyed  a  perfect  exhilaration.  I 
am  glad  to  the  brink  of  fear."  (Nature,  page  13).  It  is 
scarcely  true  of  this  period,  as  Miss  Reynolds  in  Nature  in 
English  Poetry  (p.  17),  says  of  a  later  period  in  that  litera- 
ture, that  "a  sense  of  joy  in  winter  scenes  is  one  of  the  very 
early  indications  of  a  reviving  interest  in  the  outdoor  world.'' 

But  let  us  judge  the  poets  from  their  own  testimony. 

Heinrich  von  Veldegge  strikes  the  common  chord. 

Sit  diu  sunne  ir  liehten  schin, 
gegen  der  kelte  hat  geneiget 
und  diu  kleiuen  vogellin 
ires  sanges  sint  gesweiget, 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  21 

trilrig  ist  das  herze  min 
wan  ez  wil  nu  winter  sin. 

(M.  F.,  page  59.) 

Which  is  but  echoed  in  Heinrich  von  Rugge, 

Ich  horte  gerne  eine  vogellin 
daz  hiiebe  wunneclichen  sonc. 
der  winter  kan  niht  anders  sin 
wan  swaere  und  ane  maze  lane. 

(M.  F.,  page  108.) 

Uolrich  von  Wintersteten  repeats  the  refrain, 

Komen  ist  der  winter  kalt, 

wafena  der  leide, 

der  uns  twinget  bluomen  unde  kle. 

Loubes  hat  er  vil  gevalt: 

ich  was  uf  der  heide, 

da  siht  man  den  rif  und  ouch  den  sne. 

(D.  L.,  page  170.) 

If  these  represented  passing,  or  occasional  moods,  it  would 
be  a  natural  phase  of  literature,  for  it  must  be  acknowledged 
that  the  winter  is  not  altogether  enjoyable,  and  was  less  as  to 
the  Minnesinger,  who  had  to  meet  it  without  the  comforts  of 
later  days.  But  it  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  his  utterance, 
his  constant  attitude  towards  winter.  Jt  was  partly  physical 
discomfort  which  made  winter  hateful  in  his  eyes;  but  one 
who  courted  the  sufferings  of  the  Crusades  would  scarcely 
have  been  restrained  solely  by  the  severity  of  winter.  More- 
over, in  order  to  write  of  winter,  it  is  not  necessary  to  be 
"snow-bound."  One  can  see  the  beauty  of  a  snow-storm  or 
a  snow-scene  without  exposure  to  the  rigor  of  the  cold.  It 
was  not  altogether  physical  discomfort  that  made  him  hostile 
to  winter,  but  also  the  inability  to  see  anything  admirable  in 
the  season.  He  saw  nothing  praiseworthy,  and  therefore 
had  no  praise. 

The  same  note  of  complaint  is  found  also  among  the  mod- 
erns, at  times;  as,  for  instance,  Uhland's 

O  Winter,  schlimmer  Winter, 
Wie  ist  die  Welt  so  klein. 

(Page  26.) 


22  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Or  Heine's  half -humorous 

O  bittre  Winterharte  ! 
Die  Nasen  sind  erfroren. 

(I,  page  394.) 
Or  Lenau's 

Der  Winter  stand,  ein  eiserner  Tyrann, 
Nie  losend  seine  Faust  die  festgeballte. 

(Page  253.) 

But  that  this  is  not  the  prevailing  sentiment,  the  following 
will  show.     In  Goethe's  "Winter"  we  find  this  festive  scene, 

Wasser  ist  Korper  und  Boden  der  Fluss   Das  neuste  Theatre 
Thut  in  der  Sonne  Glanz  zwischen  den  Ufern  sich  auf. 
Alle  streben  und  eilen  und  suchen  und  fliehen  einander 
Aber  alle  beschrankt  freundlich  die  glattere  Bahn, 
Dutch  einander  gleiten  sie  her,  die  Schiiler  und  Meister 
Und  das  gewohnliche  Volk,  das  in  der  Mitte  sich  halt. 

(I,  page  292.) 

And  Heine  thus  describes  a  sleighing  party, 

Und  dass  wir  mit  Pelz  bedecket 
Und  in  buntgeschmiickten  Schlitten 
Schellenklingelnd ,  peitschenknallend 
Ueber  Fluss  und  Fluren  glitten. 

(I,  pages  216-7.) 

And  Herder,  in  his  "Eistanz,"  pictures  the  winter  sport, 

Wir  schweben,  wir  wallen  auf  hallendem  Meer 
Auf  Silberkristallen  dahin  und  daheer: 
Der  Stahl  ist  uns  Fittich,  der  Himmel  das  Bach, 
Die  Liifte  sind  heilig  und  schweben  uns  nach. 

(II,  page  309.) 

At  first  sight  it  might  seem  that  this  is  merely  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  sport  in  the  face  of  winter,  as  "mit  Pelz  bedecket" 
would  suggest,  but  a  closer  look  will  reveal  that  unexpressed 
delight  and  exhilaration  which  the  unfettered-  life  gets  from 
winter;  and  in  the  last  quoted  lines  there  is  unmistakable 
evidence  of  delight  in  the  winter  scene.  In  Goethe  it  is  "a 
new  theatre' ' .  In  Herder  it  is  a  palace^  whose  floor  is  strewn 
with  silver  crystals,  whose  roof  is  Heaven's  vault  beneath 
which  we  glide  on  winged  steel,  while  the  healing  air  hovers 
after  us.     There  is  no  murmur  of  winter's  severity. 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  23 

Once  we  seem  to  hear  the  same  glad  note  among  the  early 
lyrists,  when  Nithart  begins,  "Kint  bereitet  inch  der  sliten 
ilf  daz  is, ' '  but  after  this  single  line  he  sinks  back  to 

ja  ist  der  leide  winter  kalt: 

der  hat  uns  der  wiinneclichen  bluomen  vil  benomen, 

(M.  P.,  100;  D.  L.,  112) 

and  after  running  the  usual  gamut  of  plaints,  turns  to  the 
dance  within  doors. 

Again,  we  seem  to  find  a  welcome  reception  of  the  season 
in  the  Herzoge  von  Anehalt's  lines — 

Ich  wil  den  winter  enphan  mit  gesange 
al  swigen  stille  die  kleinen  vogellin. 

(D.  L.,  page  125.) 

But  the  secret  of  his  gladness  crops  out  immediately  in, 
Des  danke  ich  doch  der  vil  lieben  frowen  min- 

So  Grave  Kuonrat  says, 

Mir  waere  wol  gelich 
beidiu  bluomen  unde  sne, 

(D.  L.,  page  266) 

and  we  might  think  that  he  at  least  loved  spring  and  winter 
equally,  if  the  next  line  were  not  "welde  si  genade  an  mir 
began'';  and  we  find  him  equally  indifferent  to  both  in  the 
presence  of  his  Mistress. 

This  is  true  of  nearly  all  their  song;  if  we  look  we  shall 
find  ''a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

This  vein  lingers  into  the  modern  period;  as  witness  Biir- 
ger's  "Minnelied", 

Doch  liebe  Blumen,  hoffet  nicht 
Von  mir  ein  Sterbelied  ! 
Ich  weiss  ein  minneglich  Gesicht, 
Worauf  ihr  alle  bliiht. 

(Page  42.) 

Chamisso,  Heine,  and  others  strike  this  chord.  Among  the 
old  poets  there  is  rarely  found  such  a  touch  of   coloring  as 


24  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Walter  gives  to  the  winter  scene  in  the  poem  '  'Wintersii- 
berdruss," 

Die  werlt  was  gelf,  rot  unde  bla, 
griien'  in  dem  walde  und  anderswa: 
kleine  vogele  sungen  da. 
nil  schriet  aber  diu  nebelkra 
pfligt  s'  iht  ander  varwe  ?     ja, 
s'  ist  worden  bleich  und  iibergra: 

(Page  8.) 

There  is  one  touch  of  individuality  in  the  picture.  Every- 
thing else  is  vaguely  general — the  vari-colored  world,  the 
green  wood,  the  little  birds— so  general,  that  they  are  used 
equally  by  all  his  contemporaries.  The  touch  of  first  hand 
observation  is  the  introduction  of  "nebelkra."  It  shows  an 
appreciation  of  that  essential  unfailing  harmony  that  may 
be  seen  in  Nature's  pictures:  that  order  in  the  fulfillment  of 
which  the  eagle  soars  among  the  stately  moving  clouds,  and 
the  condor  about  the  peaks  ©f  the  Andes,  while  the  lesser 
tribe  flit  on  uncertain  wing  among  the  trembling  tree-tops; 
that  order  in  which  the  gay  humming-bird  is  found  hovering 
about  the  tinted  flowers,  while  the  bird  of  sable  plumage 
flits  silently  among  the  shadows  of  the  somber  pines.  Who- 
ever has  seen  the  broad,  bleak  plains  of  Germany  in  winter, 
lying  dead  beneath  the  low-hanging  pall  of  leaden  cloud, 
knows  how  perfectly  in  keeping  with  the  scene  is  the  advent 
of  the  "nebelkra",  the  raven,  beating  his  way  on  labored  wing 
beneath  the  blanket  of  slow  moving  cloud,  or  croaking  his 
melancholy  note  from  the  top  of  some  naked  tree.  This 
harmony  Walter  has  caught  in  the  one  touch. 

Now  compare  a  picture  from  Chamisso's  "Nacht  und  Win- 
ter' ' . 

Von  des  Nordes  Kaltem  Wehen 
Wird  der  Schnee  dahergetrieben 
Der  die  dunkle  Erde  decket; 
Dunkle  Wolken  ziehen  am  Himmel, 
Und  es  flimmern  keine  Sterne, 
Nur  der  Schnee  im  Dunkel  schimmert. 

(Page  150.) 

Every  line  here  testifies  to  direct  observation  of  the  various 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  25 

phenomena.  It  is  not  merely  snow,  but  snow  driven  by  the 
northwind.  Not  clouds,  but  dark  clouds  drawing  across  the 
sky,  shutting  out  the  stars,  and,  beneath,  the  snow  shimmer- 
ing through  the  night:  as  if  he  had  them  before  hisej^e  while 
writing. 

We  find  here  as  in  the  treatment  of  spring  a  poverty,  both 
in  breadth  and  in  acuteness  of  observation,  when  compared 
with  the  later  period.  The  repertory  is  wind,  frost,  snoto, 
ice,  ajiehanc-frozen  rain,  and  in  the  use  even  of  these  there  is 
a  lack  of  force,  a  failure  to  catch  the  expressioti  of  Nature. 
An  exhaustive  stock  is  not  perhaps  so  much  what  the  Min- 
nesinger lacked,  as  it  was  the  power  to  use  the  felicitous 
expression,  the  polarised  word,  which,  like  a  window,  opens 
to  the  view  a  whole  landscape. 

SUMMER. 

The  Minnesinger  does  not  seem  to  distinguish  between 
summer  and  spring.  He  notes  the  same  phenomena  in  sing- 
ing each  season  and  finds  in  each  the  same  spirit  of  gladness. 
When  he  mentions  summer  it  is  as  the  opposite  of  winter, 
the  bringer  of  birds  and  flowers,  green  meadows  and  verdant 
woods.  He  sings  the  praises  of  "May"  as  belonging  to 
"summer"  To  him  the  year  was  made  up  of  a  flow  and  an 
ebb  of  life;  a  birth  and  a  death,  rather  than  of  four  seasons 
each  with  its  mood.  "The  two  seasons,"  says  I^iining  in 
Die  Natur  (page  244),  "which  lie,  so  to  speak,  between  the 
prodigal  life  of  spring  and  the  barrenness  of  winter,  I  mean 
niid-summer  and  early  autumn,  naturally  do  not  come  so 
often  nor  so  prominently  into  the  foreground  of  interest  as 
do  the  other  two." 

The  old  bard  was  not  suffieieutly  observant  to  see  a  differ- 
ence between  spring  and  summer.  They  stood  for  the  one 
season  of  bright  flowers  and  oird-song  and  love's  overflow. 
The  real  difference  was  too  fine  and  delicate  for  the  unprac- 
tised eye  and  mind  of  the  old  bard  to  see — the  difference  be- 
tween the  low,  multitudinous  murmur  of  the  tide  of  life  flow- 
ing full;  the  velvety  cloud- flecked  blue  of  the  May  sky,  and  the 
cloudless,  far  cerulean  of  July;  the  softness  of  spring's  colors, 


26  THE    DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

and  the  hardness  of  summer's;  such  things  never  entered 
into  his  conception.  Indeed,  he  scarcely  looked  to  the  sky 
except  to  mention  star  or  sun,  or  moon,  or  rarely  a  cloud. 

Flowers,  birds  and  woman  constitute  here  his  major  chord. 
Summer,  the  welcome  successor  to  winter,  is  his  minor.  On 
these  two  he  plays  out  his  song.  "Joy  over  summer  and 
complaint  overwinter,"  says  Biese  (page  114),  "are  the  basal 
notes,  which  are  struck  again  and  again;  but  of  an  inner  pen- 
etration and  quickening  of  the  landscape  with  woman-love 
there  is  not  a  trace.  It  has  a  very  monotonous  effect  to  hear 
repeatedly  the  flowers  and  the  little  birds  called  on  as  the 
messengers  of  spring,  or  the  dear  Frouxce  greeted  as  fairer 
than  the  sun." 

That  it  is  very  monotonous  soon  appears  to  the  reader  of 
the  middle  German  lyrics.  The  following,  taken  from  a 
multitude  of  examples,  will  show  the  tone  which  recurs 
again  and  again  through  the  entire  range  of  lyrists,  Walter 
says: 

Do  der  sumer  komen  was 
und  die  bluomen  durch  das  gras 
wiinnecliche  entsprungen 
alda  die  vogele  sungen. 

(Page  14.) 
And  again — 

Swie  wol  der  heide  ir  manicvaltiu  varwe  stat, 

s6  wil  ich  doch  dem  walde  jehen, 

daz  er  vil  mere  wiinneclicher  dinge  hat 

ich  sage  dir,  waz  mir  wirret:  diu  mir  ist  liep,  der  bin  ich  leit. 

(Page  43.) 

Or  again — 

swaz  kumbers  an  dem  winter  lit, 

den  wande  ich  ie  des  sumers  han  verborn. 

i'n  vant  so  staete  freude  nie 
si  wolte  mich  e  ich  sie  Ian. 

(Page  46.) 

The  burden  of  the  song  is  sooner  or  later  a  love  affair.     It 


IN  THE    GERMAN   LYRIC  27 

is  the  summer  of  love  over  against  the  winter  of  disappoint- 
ment.    For  example,  from  Kuonrat  der  Junge, 

Was  hilfet  mich  diu  sumerzit 
und  die  vil  liehten  langen  tage  ? 
Min  trost  an  einer  frowen  lit 
von  der  ich  grozen  kumber  trage. 

(M.  P.,  206;  D.  L..  220.) 

A  similar  note  is  heard  in  Steimar's, 

Sumerzit,  ich  fro  we  mich  din, 
daz  ich  mac  beschouwen 
Eine  siieze  selderin, 
mines  herzen  frouwen. 

(M.  P.,  224;  D.  L.,  241.) 

This  last  gives  the  secret  of  the  Minnesinger's  glorification 
of  summer.  It  offers  opportunity  for  him  to  see  his 
"frouwe." 

Very  rarely  is  a  poem  dedicated  to  summer  alone,  as  is 
this  anonymous  stanza: 

Ich  gesach  den  sumer  nie, 

daz  er  so  sch6ne  diihte  mich. 

Mit  manigen  bluomen  wol  getan 

diu  heide  hat  gezieret  sich. 

Sanges  ist  der  wait  so  vol : 

diu  zit  diu  tuot  den  kleinen  vogelen  wol. 

(M.  P.,  286;  D.  L.,  293.) 

This  stanza  is  an  epitome  of  the  old  lyrist's  nature-sense. 
It  includes  in  general  almost  all  the  phenomena  with  which 
he  is  acquainted. 

Summer  among  the  modern  poets,  as  specifically  mentioned, 
is  rarer  than  among  the  Minnesingers;  but  wherever  men- 
tioned, it  is  with  far  greater  understanding.  Let  two  ex- 
amples suffice  to  show  the  progress  of  the  nature-sense  along 
this  particular  line. 

The  first  lines  of  Goethe's  "Im  Sommer  are — " 

Wie  Feld  und  Au 
So  blinkend  im  Tau  ! 
Wie  perlenschwer 
Die  Pflanzen  umher  ! 
Wie  durch's  Gebiisch 


28  THE   DSVEI^OPMBNT   OF  THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Die  Winde  so  frisch  ! 

We  laut  im  hellen  Sonnenstrahi 

Die  siisseti  Voglein  allzumal  ! 

(I,  page  53.) 

These  features,  if  not  just  distinctive  of  summer  as  against 
spring,  are  certainly  distinct  in  themselves,  and  give  us,  all 
together,  a  bright  and  refreshing  picture,  such  as  any  sympa- 
thetic eye  may  see  upon  the  meadow  of  an  early  June  morn- 
ing. 

The  second  example  is  taken  from  Lenau's  "Waldlieder," 
and  is  an  excellent  illustration  of  a  finely  developed  sense  of 
appreciation — 

Schlafrig  hangen  die  sonnenmiideu  Blatter, 
Alles  schweigt  im  Walde,  nur  eine  Biene 
Summt  dort  an  der  Bliite  mit  mattem  Eifer; 
Sie  auch  liess  vom  sommerlichen  Getone, 
Eingeschlafen  vielleicht  im  Schoss  der  Blume. 

(Page  299.) 

Here  at  last  is  summer  distinct  from  spring.  Not  one 
touch  in  this  picture  could  possibly  be  mistaken  for  spring; 
not  one  but  is  the  reflection  of  the  heart  of  summer.  We 
should  go  far  in  the  fields  of  literature  to  find  so  true  and 
accurate  a  portrayal  of  that  dolce  far  niente  element,  that 
utter  listlessness,  which  pervades  the  still  mid-summer 
scene.  We  can  almost  feel  the  hot,  heavy  air,  oppressing  us  as 
we  read — the  sunshine-weary  leaves  hanging  limp  and  mo- 
tionless in  the  still  forest,  07ie  bee  droning  lazily  from  flower 
to  flower,  till  at  last  he,  too,  overcome  with  languor,  ceases 
his  droning  and  sinks  to  sleep  in  the  heart  of  some  drooping 
flower.  To  write  such  lines  the  heart  and  eye  must  have 
been  open  long  to  Nature's  moods. 

AUTUMN. 

The  Minnesinger's  conception  of  this  season  may  best  be 
given  in  the  lines  of  a  modern  poet. 

The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the  j'^ear, 
Of  wailing  winds,   and  naked  woods,  and   meadows  brown 
and  sear. 


IN  THE  GERMAN   LYRIC  29 

Heaped  in  the  hollows  of  the  grove,  the  withered  leaves  lie 

dead; 
The)''  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust,  and  to  the  rabbit's  tread. 
The  robin  and  the  wren  are  flown,  and   from  the  shrubs  the 

jay, 
And  from  the  woodtop  calls  the  crow  through  all  the  gloomy 

day.  (Bryant,  p.  274). 

He  does  not,  however,  see  the  other  mood  of  autumn,  as 
does  our  poet — 

The  Mountains  that  infold 
Iq  their  wide  sweep  the  colored  landscape  round 
Seem  groups  of  giant  kings  in  purple  and  gold, 

That  guard  the  enchanted  ground; 

And  far  in  heaven,  the  while, 
The  sun,  that  sends  that  gale  to  wander  here, 
Pours  out  on  the  fair  earth  his  quiet  smile. 

The  sweetest  of  the  year.  (Ibid  172-3.) 

Autumn  to  the  old  poet  is  but  the  promise,  the  beginning 
of  winter,  never  the  fruition,  the  crown  of  summer.  He 
looks  forward  and  not  backward.  His  song  is  colored  always 
by  the  dreariness  and  gloom  of  his  winter,  instead  of  being 
filled  with  the  soft  and  gentle  light  of  reflected  summer.  It 
is  death  and  not  fulfillment.  It  is  the  falling  leaf  and  fading 
flower,  not  the  yellow  harvest,  the  ripened  fruit,  the  festal 
colors.  It  is  the  time  for  lament,  and  not  rejoicing.  As  he 
links  spring  and  summer  into  one,  so  he  links  autumn  and 
winter,  setting  one  group  over  against  the  other. 

lyiiuing  (p.  240)  calls  attention  to  these  lines  from  Rein- 
mar — 

was  dar  umbe,  valwent  griiene  heide  ? 

ich  han  me  ze  tuonne  danne  bluomen  klagen, 

with  the  words,  "We  have  found  one  singer  who  rejects  this 
complaint  of  the  death  of  Nature  as  unmanly. ' '  This  com- 
ment, with  the  isolated  quotation,  might  lead  us  to  think  that 
the  old  poet  condemned  this  plaintive  treatment  of  the  sea- 
son as  unjust,  and  would  lead  us  to  expect  in  his  songs  some 
celebration  of  the  more  admirable  features  of  autumn.  Such 
is,  however,  not  Reinmar's  intimation.     He  does  not  con- 


30      THE  DBVBLOPMENT  OF  THE  NATURE-SENSE 

demn  the  complaint  over  autumn  as  unmanly,  but  simply  as 
not  to  be  compared  to  the  lament  over  love.  That  this  is 
his  attitude  towards  not  only  this  season,  but  all  phases  of 
Nature,  take  other  of  his  lines — 

jo  emmac  mir  niht  der  bluomen  shin 
gehelfen  fiir  die  sorge  min 
und  och  der  vogelline  sane. 
ez  muoz  mir  staete  winter  sin: 
so  rehte  swaer  ist  min  gedanc. 

(M.  F.,  page  189.) 

That  he  does  sometimes  lament  the  death  of  Nature,  these 

testify, 

sit  ich  froude  niht  enpflac 
sit  der  kalte  rife  lac. 

(M.  F.,  203.) 

This  common  note  is  heard  in  Dietmar  von  Eist's  lines: 

Sich  hat  verwandel6t  diu  zit 
daz  versten  ich  an  den  dingen: 
geswiegen  sint  die  nahtegal, 
si  hant  gelan  ir  siiezez  singen, 
und  valwet  obenan  der  wait. 

(M.  F.,  page  37.) 

The  refrain  of  the  fallen  leaf  is  repeated  in  Ruodolf  von 
Fenis — 

Ich  kiuse  an  dem  walde,  sin  loup  ist  geneiget 
daz  doch  vil  schone  stuont  froelichen  e. 
nu  riset  ez  balde:  des  sint  gar  gesweiget 
die  vogele  ir  sanges:  daz  machet  der  sn^, 

(M.  F.,  page  82) 

and  the  same  complaint  Is  heard  in  Steim^r, 

Nu  ist  der  sumer  hin  gescheiden 
wan  siht  sich  den  wait  engesten 
loup  von  den  esten  riset  M  die  heiden. 

(M.  P.,  227:  D.  L.,  242.) 

Autumn's  sere  leaf  is  to  the  poet  of  all  periods  often  the 
symbol  of  blighted  love.  This  is  the  usual  interpretation  of 
the  season  by  the  Minnesinger,  whose  songs  are  preeminently 
of  love. 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  3I 

Take  for  example  these  anonymous  lines — 

Diu  linde  ist  an  dem  ende  nu  jarlanc  licht  unde  bloz. 
'   mich  vehet  min  geselle:  nil  engilte  ich  des  ich  nie  genoz. 
Vil  ist  unstaeter  wibe  diu  benement  ime  den  sin. 
got  wizze  wol  die  warheit  daz  ich  ime  diu  holdeste  bin. 

(D.  L,..  page  289.) 

Compare  with  these  Heine's 

Das  gelbe  Laub  erzittert, 
Es  fallen  die  Blatter  herab; 
Ach,  alles,  was  hold  und  lieblich, 
Verwelkt  und  sinkt  ins  Grab. 
Mir  ist  als  miisst'  ich  weinen 
Austiefstem  Herzensgrund; 
Dies  Bild  erinnert  mich  wieder 
An  unsre  Abschiedstund'. 

(II.,  page  31.) 

Once  we  seem  to  hear  a  note  of  welcome  to  autumn,  when 
Steimar  sings — 

Herbest,  under wint  dich  min, 
wan  ich  wil  din  heifer  sin 
gegen  dem  glanzen  meien. 
Durh  dich  mide  ich  sende  n6t. 

(M.  P.,  228:  D.  L,.,  240.) 

But  we  find  in  the  following  lines  that  his  gladness  does 
not  spring  from  any  love  of  the  season  in  itself,  but  from  a 
love  of  the  festal  board — 

Herbest  nu  hoer  an  min  leben. 
wirt,  du  solt  uns  vische  geben 
me  dan  zehen  hande, 
Gense  hiiener  vogel  swin, 
derm  el  pfawen  sunt  da  sin, 
win  von  welschem  lande: 

(Ibidem.) 

One  of  the  few  delights  which  the  old  poet  associates  with 
autumn  is  the  abundance  of  "bra ten"  and  "win''  which  it 
brings;  as  instance  again  in  Haloub's  lines — 

Herbest  wil  beraten 

mang  gesind  mit  gouten  trachten 

bi  der  gluot  aid  swa  si  sin: 


32  THE    DBVEI.OPMEN'T  OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Veize  swinin  braten 

dar  umb  sol  ir  wirt  in  achten 

und  ouch  bringen  guoten  win. 

(M.  P.,  257;  D.  I..,  274.) 
A  frequent  feature  of  the  feast  seems  to  have  been  some- 
thing akin  to  our  husking  song,  but  it  was  sung  in  the  barn 
and  not  under  the  open  sky,  as  may  be  seen  from   Barkart 
von  Hohenfels'  description — 

Ein  altiu  riet  uns  mit  witze 

in  die  schiure  nach  gemache 


froide  hate  leit  besezzen 

do  der  tanz  begunde  slichen 

froide  unde  friheit 

ist  der  werlte  fiir  geleit. 

Diu  vil  siieze  stadelwtse 

kunde  starken  kumber  krenken. 

(M.  P.,  146;  D.  Iv.,  151.) 
The  plaint  of  the  falling  leaf  is  frequent;  too,  in  the  mod- 
erns, as  for  instance  in  I^enau's  "Heibstgefiihl." 
An  den  Baumen  welk  und  matt, 
Swebt  des  Laubes  letzte  Neige, 
Niedertaumelt  Blatt  auf  Blatt 
Und  verhiillt  die  Waldessteige. 

(Page  68.) 
or  in  "Herbst — " 

Nun  ist  es  Herbst,  die  Blatter  fallen. 
Den  Wald  durchbraust  des  Scheidens  Weh, 
Den  I^enz  und  seine  Nachtigallen 
Versaumt'  ich  auf  der  wiisten  See. 

(Page  71.) 
But  we  hear  also  another  note,  in  the  later  poet's  song  of 
autumn;  a  note  of  gladness  rather  than  of  regret,  a  looking 
backward — an  acceptation  of  autumn  as  the  bearer  of  sum- 
mer's fruition. 

This  note  is  found,  for  example,  in  Riickert's  "Der  Klare 
Herbst—'' 

Mir  gefallt  der  Herbst,  der  klare, 
Weil  er  bringt  zu  Markt  als  Waare 
Frucht,  die  fliicht'  ge  Bliitte  war; 
Wie  ich  meinem  Winter  spare; 
Was  mein  Sommer  heiss  gebar. 


IN    THB   GERMAN   LYRIC  33 

It  is  noteworthy  that  the  poets  of  both  periods  seem  insen- 
sible to  the  rich  and  varied  coloring  of  autumn.  They  over- 
look all  the  gorgeous  tints  of  the  season,  and  see  only  the 
sere  leaf.  The  omission  is  not  due  to  color-blindness,  for  at 
various  times  they  mention  nearly  all  the  colors  presented  in 
autumn's  chromatic  scale — white,  blue,  brown,  green,  yelloxo, 
red;  nor  is  this  omission  confined  to  poetry.  In  painting, 
too,  where  colors  play,  of  necessity,  a  more  conspicuous 
part,  we  find  even  up  to  the  last  century  almost  no  attempt 
to  reproduce  on  canvas  the  colors  of  autumn.  There  are 
among  the  late  moderns  two  autumn  pictures  by  Faust  in 
the  Cassel  gallery  and  one  or  two  by  other  artists  in  the  Ber- 
lin gallery,  but  even  these  are  well  nigh  monochromes. 

I  have  not  noted  among  the  Minnesingers  one  single  men- 
tion of  autumn  color.  Among  the  moderns  Chamisso,  in  a 
poem  entitled  "Herbst,"  notes  one  color — 

Niedrig  schleicht  blass  hin  die  entnervte  Sonne 
Herbstlich  golbgelb  farbt  sich  das  L,aub. 

(Page  47.) 

L,enau  in  "Herbstgefiihl' '  compares  the  colors  of  autumn 
to  the  flush  on  the  cheek  of  a  sick  man — 

Der  Buchenwald  ist  herbstlich  schon  gerotet 
So  wie  ein  Kranker,  der  sich  neigt  zum  Sterben 
Wenn  fliichtig  noch  sich  seine  Wangen  f arben ; 
Doch  Rosen  sind's  wobei  kein  L,ied  mehr  flotet. 

(Page  127.) 

A  notable  utterance  in  this  almost  complete  silence  is  that 
of  Riickert  in  "Herbstf arben" — 

Nicht  einzle  Purpurdolden, 
Nicht  goldne  Sternlein  matt: 
Der  ganze  Wald  ist  golden, 
Und  Purpur  jedes  Blatt. 

(Page  194.) 

In  conclusion  we  note  that  the  Minnesinger's  treatment  of 
the  seasons,  though  perhaps  the  heartiest,  freest  and  most 
natural  in  the  whole  range  of  his  Naturanschauung ,  is  nar- 


34  THB   DBVBLOPMBNT   OF   THE   NATURB-SKNSE 

row,  imperfect,  and  often  artificial  when  compared  with  the 
nature-sense  of  the  19th  century.  His  range  of  objects  ob- 
served is  limited,  his  appreciation  of  them  is  nearly  alwa3'^s 
accessory  to  something  else.  His  vocabulary  is  restricted 
when  used  to  treat  nature;  his  phrases  are  largely  stereo- 
typed. The  freshness  of  utterance  which  comes  from  sym- 
pathetic association  is  lacking. 


Ill— BIRDS  AND  FLOWERS. 

In  immediate  connection  with  a  study  of  the  seasons,  it 
will  be  fitting  to  consider  those  phenomena  of  nature  which 
are  associated  with  the  seasons. 

It  has  been  shown  in  the  preceding  pages  that  the  Minne- 
singer's appreciation  was  largely  superficial  and  of  that 
which  forced  itself  upon  his  observation.  The  next  step 
would  naturally  be  to  the  consideration  of  those  phenomena 
most  conspicuous  to  the  senses.  A  study  of  his  attitude  to- 
wards the  seasons  reveals  the  fact  that  the  accessories  most 
noted  by  him  are  birds  and  flowers.  What  evidence  does 
his  treatment  of  them  give  as  to  his  nature-sense  ?  Since  his 
treatment  of  the  seasons  was  so  imperfect  and  stereotyped 
we  shall  not  be  surprised  to  find  his  mention  of  their  acces- 
sories very  conventional. 

The  early  lyrist's  mention  of  birds  is  usually  in  a  general 
way  which  gives  no  evidence  of  any  direct  observation;  he 
most  often  refers  to  them  in  such  words  as  "die  kleine  vogele 
singen.''  He  does,  however,  sometimes  name  the  particular 
kind  of  bird.  His  catalogue  is  limited  to  yiightingale,  thrush, 
blackbird,  lark,  swallow,  ^'zisel,'"  cro'w,  falcon^  eagle,  swan, 
and  a  few  domestic  fowl.  Of  these  the  conventional  night- 
ingale receives  by  far  the  most  frequent  notice  in  his  verse, 
being  named  of  tener  than  all  the  others  together.  The  others 
appear  very  rarely — being  mentioned,  some  of  them,  only 
once  or  twice  in  the  whole  period. 

His  mention  of  the  birds  is  not  usually  such  as  a  sympa- 
thetic eye  witness  would  make.  He  notes  but  few  individu- 
alising traits.  The  nightingale,  the  common  property  of 
poets,  is  his  chief  resource. 

Rietenburg  gives  us  these  typical  lines — 

Diu  nahtegal  ist  gesweiget 
und  ir  h6her  sane  geneiget 


36  THB   DEVBI.OPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

die  ich  e  wol  horte  singen 

doch  tuot  mir  sanfte  guot  gedinge, 

den  ich  von  einer  frowen  han. 

(M.  F.,  page  i8.) 

This  is  typical  in  its  general  mention  of  the  bird,  and  its 
turn  to  the  theme  of  love.  It  is  notable  that  the  poets  should 
have  known  the  bird  so  long  in  connection  with  love,  and 
but  recently  have  known  it  in  and  for  itself.  But  perhaps 
Buflfon  accounts  in  part  for  the  late  awakened  interest  in 
the  birds  themselves,  among  the  lyrists.  An  example  par- 
allel to  the  above  is  found  in  an  anonymous  poem: 

Diu  nahtegal  diu  sane  so  wol 
daz  man  ir's  iemer  danken  sol 
und  andern  kleinen  vogellin 
d6  dahte  ich  an  die  frouwen  min: 
diu  ist  mins  herzen  kiinigin. 

(D.  L.,  pages  290-1.) 

Perhaps  a  more  frequent  reference  is  made  to  birds  in  gen- 
eral without  discriminating,  as  in  these  lines  from  Dietmar 
von  Eist. 

Uf  der  linden  obene 

da  sane  ein  kleines  vogellin 

vor  dem  walde  wart  ez  lut: 

do  huop  sich  aber  daz  herze  min. 

(M.  F.,  page  34.) 
Or  these  from  Veldegge — 

Ez  sint  guotiu  niuwe  mare, 
daz  die  vogel  offenbare 
singent  da  man  bluomen  siet. 

(M.  F.,  page  56.) 

In  some  cases  an  attempt  is  made  to  draw  distinction  be- 
tween different  birds,  but  not  always  with  accuracy,  as  may 
be  seen  from  this  example  from  Heinrich  von  Morungen — 

Ez  ist  site  der  nahtegal, 

swan  si  ir  liet  volendet,  so  geswiget  sie 

dur  daz  volge  ich  ab  der  swal, 

diu  liez  durch  Hebe  noch  dur  leide  ir  singen  nie. 

(M.  F.,  page  127.) 


IN  THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  37 

The  inconstancy  of  the  swallow  is  proverbial.  It  will  be 
information  to  the  ornithologist,  no  doubt,  to  learn  that  she 
has  a  song,  and  that  she  continues  to  sing  through  weal  or 
woe. 

In  the  following  lines  from  Kuonrat  von  Kilchberc  there 
is  a  background  touch  of  nature  in  the  setting  which  he  gives 
to  his  birds — 

Towic  gras,  gel  hivine  bhiomen  schoene 

diu  vil  Hebe  kunft  des  meien  bringet 

S6  diu  lerhe  liiftet  ir  gedoene 

daz  ir  schal  M  dur  diu  wolken  dringet. 

D^  bi  hoeret  man  gar  unverborgen 

in  den  owen  iiber  al 

siiezen  schal  der  nahtegal. 

(D.  L.,  page  265.) 

The  freshness  and  flavor  of  the  outside  world  that  pervade 
these  lines  is  something  unusual  in  the  Minnesingers.  The 
natural  setting  of  the  lark  between  the  '  'dewy  grass' '  and 
the  "clouds" — the  nightingale's  clear  note  from  out  the  dusk- 
shaded  meadows,  show  a  touch  of  nature  which  belongs 
rather  to  the  19th  century  poets.  They  strongly  suggest 
Burns'  beautiful  ode — 

Alas  !  it's  no  thy  neebor  sweet. 
The  bonie  Lark,  companion  meet  ! 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet  ! 

Wi'  spreckled  breast, 
When  upward- springing,  blithe,  to  greet 

The  purpling  east.  . 

(Page  69.) 

Or  Shelley's  famous  lines 

Hail  to  thee  blithe  spirit 

Bird  thou  never  wert, 

That  from  heaven  or  near  it 

Pourest  thy  full  heart 

In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

(Page  541.) 

Compare  with  these  a  stanza  from  Uhland's   "Lerchen- 
krieg",  which  contains  a  like  touch  of  nature — 


3  8  THE   DKVEI.OPMBNT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Lerchen  sind  wir  freie  Lerchen, 
Wiegen  uns  in  Sonnenschein 
Steigen  auf  aus  griinen  Saaten, 
Tauchen  in  den  Himmel  ein, 

(Page  372) 

or   these   beautiful   lines   from    Lenau,  describing   the   lark 
mounting  on  the  steps  of  song — 

An  ihren  bunten  Liedern  klettert 
Die  L,erche  selig  in  die  Luft: 
Ein  jubelchor  von  Sangern  schmettert 
Im  Walde  voller  Bliit'  und  Duft. 

(Page  60.) 

It  is  only  a  sympathetic  eye  that  sees  the  golden  ladder  of 
song  on  which  the  lark  ascends  and  descends  between  earth 
and  heaven. 

Mention  has  already  been  made  of  that  unfailing  harmony 
of  Nature,  where  every  creature  has  its  proper  setting;  out 
of  which  setting  it  looks  unnatral  to  us.  Why,  for  instance, 
does  the  lark  look  out  of  place  on  the  limb  of  a  tree,  but 
quite  at  home  swaying  on  the  treetop,  or  mounting  from  the 
meadow  ?  Has  not  its  fountain-like  burst  of  music  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  case  ?  Audubon  seems  to  have  been  the 
first  among  naturalists  to  recognize  this  element  in  nature. 
He  took  pains  in  his  drawings  of  birds  and  animals  to  put 
each  in  that  frame  which  nature  seems  to  have  ordered  for 
each — the  partridge  by  a  tussock  of  grass,  the  robin  on  an 
oak  branch,  the  pine  hatch  on  the  pine  twig,  the  field  lark 
on  the  meadow.  It  is  this  harmony  which  we  hear  echoed 
in  the  lines  quoted  above.  St.  Pierre  calls  attention  to  Vir- 
gil's appreciation  of  this  fitness  of  setting.  "When,''  says 
he,  "Virgil  tells  us  'the  ash  tree  is  very  beautiful  in  the 
■woods,  the  popular  on  the  banks  of  the  nvers,^  he  puts  the 
tree  in  the  singular  and  the  site  in  the  plural  in  order  to 
enlarge  his  horizon."  It  is  the/ same  harmony  which  Emer- 
son describes  so  clearly  in  his  "Each  and  All"  — 

I  thought  the  sparrow's  note  from  heaven, 

Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder  bough; 

I  brought  him  home,  in  his  nest,  at  even; 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  39 

He  sings  the  song,  but  it  pleases  not  now, 
For  I  did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sky — 
He  sang  to  my  ear— they  sang  to  my  eye. 

{Page  14.) 

Elsewhere  is  heard,  too,  the  echo  of  this  harmony,  often 
and  distinctly  with  the  moderns,  rarely  and  less  clearly  with 
the  old  bards — as  in  these  lines  where  Otto  zem  Turne  speaks 
of  the  eagle, 

den  sin  adel  und  sin  art, 
in  des  luftes  wilde  twinget, 
dar  kein  vogel  nie  glufluoc 

(D.  L.,  page  286) 
Or  these  words  from  Schiller — 

Wild  ist  es  hier  und  schauerlich  od.     Imeinsamen  lyuftraum 
Hangt  nur  der  Adler  und  kniipft  an  das  Gewolke  die  Welt; 

(I,  pa^e  229) 
Or  once  again  from  Uhland, 

Der  Aar,  ein  Konig,  schwebet  auf , 
Er  rauschet  in  Wonne, 
Will  langen  sich  zur  Kron'  herab 
Die  goldene  Sonne. 

(Page  181.) 

In  each  case  the  poet  has  seen  Nature  as  she  is,  and  rep- 
resents her  faithfully— the  eagle's  home  is  far  up  by  the  sun, 
the  king  of  birds  ruling  the  vast  upper  deep — great  things 
grouped  together — the  sun,  the  deep  sky,  the  stately  cloud, 
the  eagle.  The  wild  duck  beating  his  way  across  the  sky  on 
rapid  wing  gives  us  a  sense  of  uneasiness,  while  the  great 
hawk  soaring  on  motionless  wings  holds  the  admiring  eye. 
The  uncertain  flight  of  the  duck  is  ill  in  keeping  with  the 
vasty  sky  and  the  slow,  stately  movements  of  the  clouds.  I 
cannot  better  indicate  this  grouping  of  great  things  in  Nature 
than  by  quoting  Tennyson's  Eagle — 

He  clasps  the  crag  with  crooked  hands; 
Close  to  the  sun  in  lonely  lands, 
Ring'd  with  the  azure  world,  he  stands. 
The  wrinkled  sea  beneath  him  crawls; 
He  watches  from  his  mountain  walls. 
And  like  a  thunderbolt  he  falls. 

(Page  130.) 


40  THE    DEVELOPMENT   ©F   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

What  grouping  of  greatness  !  the  sea,  the  eagle,  the  moun- 
tain walls,  the  azure  world,  the  sun.  And  yet  the  little 
stanza  does  not  seem  to  be  over- full,  because  it  is  a  picture 
of  Nature. 

The  Minnesinger's  ear  does  not  seem  to  have  been  more 
sensible  to  the  audible  mitsic  of  nature's  realm  than  his  eye 
was  to  the  inaudible  harmony.  Of  sounds  he  has  very  little 
to  say.  The  only  voices  which  he  records  as  having  heard 
in  all  the  multitude  of  animate  and  inanimate  nature  are  the 
bird-songs.  He  mentions  the  winds,  but  says  not  one  word 
about  their  varying  voices.  He  speaks  of  the  brook  in  pass- 
ing, but  there  is  no  echo  of  its  murmurings.  He  soul  was 
not  moved 

"By  the  murmur  of  a  spring 
Or  the  least  bough's  rustling." 

Even  the  birds  sing  the  same  song.      He  refers  to  it  always 
in  the  vague  terms — 

"siieze  doene,"  "wiinneclichen  schal'', 

the  one  exception  being  the  "nebelkra'',  who  "schriet". 

FLOWERS. 
As  has  been  remarked,  the  early  lyrists  do  not  seem  to 
have  been  well  acquainted  at  first  hand  with  Nature's  gar- 
den. They  walked  through  it,  to  be  sure,  often  enough, 
but  either  with  a  sweetheart  or  to  sing  songs  at  her  window. 
When  they  turned  for  a  moment  to  pluck  a  flower,  by  the 
way,  it  was  for  the  adornment  of  the  mistress  and  not  for 
love  of  the  flower.  Their  flower-sense  is  shallow.  For  them 
there  was  no  expression  in  the  flowers — there  was  no  lan- 
guage of  flowers;  if  they  spoke,  it  was  of  love  and  in  one 
common  voice.     The  Minnesinger  could  not  say, 

"To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. ' ' 

He  was  rather  the  proverbial  Peter  Bell: 

"A  primrose  by  the  river's  brim 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 
And  it  was  nothing  more.'' 


IN    THE   GERMAN   I^YRIC  4I 

The  catalogue  of  flowers  given  by  the  Minnesinger  is  not 
a  large  one,  and  those  named  are  generally  the  conventional 
ones  of  poetry,  the  rose,  lily  and  violet  with  clover;  his  use  of 
them  being  well  indicated  in  this  selection  from  Reimar: 

Ich  sach  vil  wunneclichen  stan 
die  heide  mit  den  bluomen  rot 
der  vtol  der  ist  wol  getan, 
des  hat  diu  nahtegal  ir  not 
wol  iiberwunden  diu  si  twanc. 

(M.  F.,  page  183.) 

For  color  and  breadth,  compare  with  this  Schiller's  descrip- 
tion of  the  blooming  meadow — 

Kraftig  auf  bliihender  Au  erglanzen  die  wechselnden  Farben, 

Aber  der  reizende  Streit  loset  in  Anmut  sich  auf. 

Frei   empfangt   mich   die  Wiese   mit   weithin   verbreitetem 

Teppich; 
Durch  ihr  freundliches  Griin  schlingt  sich  der  landliche  Pfad. 
Um  mich  summt  die  geschaftigcBien,  mit  zweitelndem  Fliigel 
Wiegt  der  Schmetterling  sich  iiber  dem  rotlichen  Klee, 
Gliihend  trifft  mich  der  Sonne  Pfeil,  still  liegen  die  Weste, 
Nur  der  Lerche  Gesang  wirbelt  in  heiterer  Luft. 

(I,  page  223.) 

The  first  picture  is  quite  colorless  and  dead,  like  a  photo- 
graph of  a  flower-bed  in  white  and  gray.  There  is  no  de- 
scription, no  touch  of  nature.  It  is  all  as  vague  as  one  could 
imagine;  red  flowers  on  a  meadow,  with  scattered  violets. 
Now  note  the  other  description.  It  is  rich  and  full  of  color, 
and  accurate.  One  might  have  written  the  former  without 
ever  having  seen  a  meadow,  or  knowing  one  flower  from 
another;  but  to  write  the  latter  the  poet  must  often  have 
looked  lovingly  upon  this  bright  smile  of  nature — the  broad 
carpet  of  the  meadow,  the  changing  colors,  the  path  wander- 
ing through  the  green,  the  busy  bee  on  doubtful  wing,  the 
butterfly  flitting  above  the  clover,  sunshine  and  lark-song. 
These  go  to  make  a  real  picture  of  Nature. 

There  is  sometimes,  however,  a  more  natural  touch  in  the 
early  poets,  as,  for  instance,  when  Wolfram  von  Hschenbach 


42  THE   DEVSLOPMKNT   OF  THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Der  bliclichen  bluomen  glesteu 

sol  des  touwes  anehanc  erliutern,  sw^  sie  sint, 

(D.  L.,  page  looj 

or  when  Der  von  Wildonje  writes, — 

Diu  vr6unt  sicli  der  spilnden  sunne, 
swa  si  vor  dem  berge  uf  gat. 
Waz  gelichet  sich  der  wunne 
da  ein  r6se  in  touwe  st^t  ? 

(D.  L.,  page  211.) 

The  sparkling  of  the  dew-decked  flower  is  a  step  forward 
in  description.  Still  a  further  advance  beyond  conventional 
lines  may  be  found  in  the  following  lines  from  Biiwenburc: 

Waz  ist  daz  liehte  daz  hizet  her  viir 
fiz  dem  jungen  griienen  gras  als  ob  ez  smiere 
und  ez  uns  ein  griiezen  wil  schimpfen  mit  abe  ? 
Ez  sint  die  bluomen  den  sumer  ich  spiir. 

(M,  P.,  263.;  D.  Iv.,  page  277.) 

Here  the  flowers  have  life,  and  laugh  a  greeting  from  out 
the  grass. 

This  idea  is  found  still  stronger  in  Schiller,  where  the  flow- 
ers are  the  children  of  nature  dressed  in  her  colors- 
Kinder  der  verjiingten  Sonne, 
Blumen  der  geschmiickten  Flur, 
Euch  erzog  zu  Lust  and  Wonne, 
Ja,  euch  liebte  die  Natur. 
Schon  das  Kleid  mit  I^icht  gesticket, 
Schon  hat  Flora  euch  geschmiicket, 

(I,  page  34.) 

and  in  Heine  where  they  become  really  personified — 

Es  fliistern  und  sprechen  die  Blumen, 
Und  schaun  mitleidlg  mich  an, 

(I,  page  83.) 

A  frequent  use  of  flowers  with  the  Minnesinger  is  in  com- 
parison with  some  feature  of  his  mistress, — 

Reht  als  ein  r6se  diu  sich  liz  ir  kl6sen  lat, 

swenn  si  des  siiezen  touwes  gert, 

sus  b6t  si  mir  ir  zuckersiiezen  rdten  munt. 

(D.  L.,  page  261-2.) 


IN    THE   GERMAN    I,YRIC  43 

We  find  in  his  treatment  of  flowers  the  first  faint  breath- 
ings of  that  delight  in  Nature  which  was  to  become  such  a 
strong  element  in  the  nature-sense  of  the  Moderns — an  ele- 
ment altogether  essential  to  the  developed  sense.  L^iutolt 
von  Savene  sings  of  the  benefaction  of  nature-love — 

Wol  in  den  der  kleinen  vogele  singen 

troestet  und  der  bluomen  schin  ! 

Wie  mac  dem  an  vrouden  misselingen  ? 

(D.  L.,  page  127.) 

And  Toggenburc  voices  the  same  sentiment  in 

H^t  ie  man  ze  froiden  muot, 

der  sol  keren  ze  der  griienen  linden. 

(D.  L.,page  199.) 

In  the  Minnesinger's  eyes  the  flowers  had  one  other  signi- 
ficance. They  were  looked  upon  as  the  heralds  of  spring. 
"Ich  sach  boten  des  sumeres:  daz  waren  bluomen  also  rot," 
says  Meinloh  von  Sevelingen  (M,  F.,  page  14). 

A  more  explicit  love  for  the  children  of  nature  is  found 
among  the  later  poets — love  akin  to  that  between  man  and 
man,  kindred  spirits — a  stage  nowhere  attained  to  by  the  old 
poets  to  whom  the  natural  world  was  somethiog  outside 
themselves  to  be  regarded  objectively.  For  Goethe  all  crea- 
tion breathed  one  common  spirit;  the  trees  were  his  friends; 

Lrcbet  wohl,  geliebte  Baume  ! 
Wachset  in  der  Himmelsluft ! 
Tausend  liebevoUe  Traume 
Schlingen  sich  durch  euern  Duft. 

(I,  page  305.) 

This  feeling  of  universal  fellowship  is  notabl}'^  strong  in 
Korner's  "Die  Kichen,"  where  the  poet,  no  longer  objectively 
critical,  sinks  into  the  great  Mother's  lap,  where  the  trees 
and  birds  and  flowers  are  his  brothers; 

Abend  wird's,  des  TagesStimmen  schweigen 
Roter  strahlt  der  Sonne  letztes  Gliihn; 
Und  hier  sitz'  ich  uner  euren  Zweigen, 
Und  das  Herz  ist  mir  so  voll,  so  kiihn  ! 

(Pages.) 


44  THE   DEVELOPMENT  OE  THE  NATURE-SENSE 

Finally,  to  illustrate  the  wide  difference  in  observation  at 
the  two  periods,  let  us  compare  these  selections  taken,  the 
first  from  Wiirzeburc,  the  second  from  Chamisso — 

Tou  mit  vollen  aber  triufet 

uf  die  r&sen  dne  tuft: 

fizer  boUen  schone  sliufet 

manger  losen  bliiete  kluft; 

(D.  L.,  page  224.) 
now — 

Von  der  upp'gen,  griinen  Blatter 
Schatt'gem  Netze  dicht  umwoben, 
Wagt  den  Kelch  nicht  zu  entfalten, 
Knospe  noch,  die  zarte  Rose, 
Und  sie  reift  das  Gold  der  Diiste 
In  des  Kelches  tiefem  Borne 
Reift  der  Reize  stille  Machte 
In  dem  Innersten  verborgen. 

(Page  363.) 

The  one  eye  looks  at  the  rosebud  from  the  outside;  the 
other  sees  into  the  heart  of  the  unfolding  flower.  These 
type  the  nature-sense  of  the  two  periods. 

The  lack  of  color-sense  among  the  poets  of  both  periods 
has  been  noted  in  connection  with  autumn.  This  lack  seems 
to  extend  largely,  among  the  Minnesingers,  to  all  the  phe- 
nomena of  Nature.  "The  sense  of  color,"  says  Mr.  Sy- 
monds  (p.  443),  "cannot  be  judged  by  color-nomenclature. 
People,  in  a  primitive  state  of  society,  may  be  accutely  sensi- 
tive to  colors,  ....  and  yet  may  have  no  names  to  denote 
the  shades  of  hue.''  We  shall  not  judge  the  poets,  however, 
by  their  respective  gamuts  of  color,  for  that  would  be  injust- 
ice to  the  early  poets.  But  we  have  the  right  to  judge  any 
writer's  color-sense  by  his  discriminate  or  indiscriminate 
application  of  the  colors  which  he  knows.  It  is  on  this  basis 
we  judge  the  poets  of  our  two  periods. 

To  the  eye  of  the  old  poet  the  meadow  and  wood  were 
usuolly  green  or  faded.  He  knew  the  colors  red  and  yellow, 
but  never  applied  them  to  wood  and  field,  although  they 
must  have  donned  them  every  year  for  a  season.  He  limits 
his  application  of  vari-colors  to  flowers.  Between  spring  and 
winter  he  marked  no  change  of  nature's  dress,  nor  did  he 


IN   THE  GERMAN   LYRIC 


45 


note  the  variegated  garb  at  any  season.  Two  notable  excep- 
tions must  be  made  here,  however.  Walter,  in  a  poem  en- 
titled "Wintersiiberdruss,"  says, 

Diu  werlt  was  gelf,  r6t  unde  bla, 
griien'  in  dem  walde  und  anderswa. 

(Pages.) 
And  Limpurc  says, 

Diu  heide  wtinnecliche  st^t 

mit  bluomen  maniger  leie, 

Sint  gel  griien,  rot,  sint  bla,  briin,  blanc. 

(D.  L.,  page  189.) 
Rarely,  too,  the  meadow  bears  "manifold  color''.  The 
rose  is  proverbially  red,  the  lily  white— which  tradition 
maintains  to  our  days.  The  Minnesinger  rarely  looks  to- 
ward the  sky,  though  his  eye  was  sometimes  arrested  by  the 
sunrise  or  the  sunset.  He  speaks  of  a  "schoen  abentrdt" 
following  a  gloomy  morning;  and  says  his  mistress'  blush  is 
"sam  der  abentrot."  Further  than  this  he  does  not  speak 
of  the  colors  manifested  in  the  sky.  The  very  fact  that  he 
notices  the  evening  and  morning  colors,  and  turns  from  them 
with  purely  casual  mention  is  an  evidence  that  he  had  but 
slight  appreciation  of  the  gorgeous  changing  tints  of  these 
phenomena. 

Among  the  moderns  the  coloring  is  too  abundant  to  need 
examples — "the  purple  light  of  morn,"  "the  golden  flames 
of  the  mountain-top,"  "white  clouds,"  "blue  sky,"  "golden 
heaven,"  "rose  clouds,''  are  frequent  characterizations. 

I  cannot  refrain,  however,  from  giving  this  beautiful 
stanza  from  Heine's  "Atta  Troll,"  which  describes  the 
the  lights  of  sunrise: 

Sonnenaufgang  Goldne  Pfeile 
Schlessen  nach  den  weissen  Nebcin, 
Die  sich  roten,  wie  verwundet, 
Und  in  Glanz  und  I^icht  zerrinnen. 

(II,  page  398.) 

In  regard  of  flowers  the  moderns  have  a  like  discrimina- 
tion of  colors. 

I  have  found  no  mention  of  odor  among  the  early  poets. 


46  THB  DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATdRB-SENSB 

This  omission  may  be  due  to  the  less  poetic  nature  of  odors 
— they  receive  in  all  poetry  rarer  mention  than  colors — or  it 
may  be  due  to  the  early  poet's  lack  of  direct  touch  with 
nature.  Sight  has  a  longer  range  than  smell.  Among  the 
moderns  there  is  frequent  mention  of  "Duft,"  "der  Diifte 
Balsam,"  "Krauterduft,"  "die  duftende  Nacht,"  "Rosen- 
duft,"  "Hyacinthenduft,"  -'Veilchenduft,"  etc. 


IV.-THE  HEAVENS. 

Mr.  Symonds,  speaking  of  the  literature  of  the  Minne- 
singers, says  (page  300),  "The  stars,  and  clouds,  and  temp- 
ests of  the  heavens,  the  ever- recurring  miracle  of  sunrise,  the 
solemn  pageant  of  sunsetting,  are  almost  as  if  they  were  not 
in  this  literature. "  The  Minnesinger's  appreciation  of  the 
heavens  is  in  keeping  with  his  appreciation  of  the  earth. 
He  rarely  looks  towards  the  sky,  and  when  he  does  it  is  not 
to  admire  nor  to  meditate,  but  to  borrow  some  figure  for 
love.  Flowers  were  to  adorn  his  mistress;  so  sun,  moon,  and 
stars  are  to  adorn  her  in  figure.  What  love  cannot  appro- 
priate to  herself  from  the  treasures  of  the  sky  is  "as  though 
it  were  not"  to  the  old  poet. 

If  he  sees  the  sunrise  it  awakens  in  him  no  wonder  nor 
admiration:  he  does  not  see  its  splendor;  it  does  not  kindle 
any  imagination  in  him.  He  sees  no  Aurora  in  robes  of 
dark  and  pink  with  light  between,  no  Phoebus  with  fiery 
steeds,  nor  Apollo's  golden  arrows,  neither  does  he  sing  "the 
heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God  and  the  firmament  showeth 
his  handiwork.  Day  unto  day  uttereth  speech. ' '  Nor  does 
he  say,  with  the  modern  lyrist, 

I  stood  upon  the  hills,  when  heaven's  wide  arch 
Was  glorious  with  the  sun's  returning  march. 
And  woods  were  brightened  and  the  soft  gales 
Went  forth  to  kiss  the  sun-clad  vales. 

(Longfellow,  page  9.) 

There  is  no  mythology  nor  worship  nor  nature-love  in  his 
attitude  towards  the  sky.  The  dawn  suggests  the  smile  of 
his  mistress: 

si  liuhtet  sam  der  sunne  tuot 
gegen  dem  liehten  morgen. 

(M.  F.,  page  129.) 
or, 

ir  tugent  reine  ist  der  sunnen  gelich 
diu  triiebiu  wolken  tuot  liehte  gevar — 

(M.  F.,  page  123.) 


48  THE  DEVBI.OPMBNT  OP  THE  NATURE-SENSE 

If  he  sings — 

"ich  sihe  des  nahtes  krefte  balde  swachen," 

{D.  L,.,  page  loi.) 

it  is  only  to  warn  guilty  lovers  that  day  is  at  hand. 

The   morning   star  is   mentioned,  too,  in  the  warning  of 
lingering  lovers, — 

Ich  sihe  den  morgensterne  brehen: 
nu,  helt,  la  dich  niht  gerne  sehen; 
vil  liebe,  dest  mm  rat. 

(D.  L.,  page  296.) 

This  note  is  heard  also  as  a  minor  note  in  the  later  poets — 
for  instance,  Chamisso  says: 

Die  Sonne,  die  bringt  viel  L-eiden, 
Es  weinet  die  scheidende  Nacht: 
Ich  also  muss  weinen  und  scheiden, 
Es  ist  ja  die  Welt  schon  erwacht. 

(Page  44.) 

Very  rarely  we  find  in  the  first  period  a  touch  of  nature 
in  reference  to  morning,  as  in  these  lines  from  Wildonje: 

man  hoert  in  dem  ouwen  singen 
diu  vil  kleiniu  vogellin. 
Diu  vrount  sich  der  spilnden  sunne, 
sua  si  vor  dem  berge  uf  gat. 

(D.  L.,  page  211.) 

A  like  sentiment  is  found  in  Uhland's  "Morgenlied" : 

Noch  ahnt  man  kaum  der  Sonne  I,icht, 
Noch  sind  Morgenglocken  nicht 
Im  finstern  Thai  erklungen. 
Die  Voglein  zwitschern  nur  im  Traum, 
Kein  Sang  hat  sich  erschwungen. 

(Page  47.) 

But  there  is  among  the  moderns  a  deeper  and  more  far- 
reaching  note  in  the  sunrise  song — 
Schiller  sings  of  the  morning — 

Frisch  atmet  des  Morgens  lebendiger  Hauch; 
Purpurisch  zuckt  durch  diistrer  Tannen  Ritzen 
Das  junge  Licht  und  iiugelt  aus  den  Strauch; 

In  goldnen  Flammen  blitzen 

Der  Berge  Wolkenspitzen. 

(I.  page33-> 


IN    THE   GERMAN    LYRIC  49 

Heine,  in  the  following  stanza,  beautifully  pictures  the 
paling  stars  and  the  white  flitting  mists  of  morning — 

Blasser  schimmern  schon  die  Sterne, 
Und  die  Morgennebel  steigen 
Aus  der  Seeflut,  wie  Gespenster, 
Mit  hinschleppend  weissen  Laken. 

(I,  page  384.) 
And  Lenau  inspires  the  scene  with  life — 

Des  Himmels  f  rohes  Antlitz  brannte 
Schon  von  des  Tages  erstem  Kuss, 
Und  durch  das  Morgensternlein  sandte 
Die  Nacht  mir  ihren  Scheidegruss. 

(Page  loi.) 

To  the  old  poet  the  day  sky  was  the  sun  alone.  The  blue 
vault,  the  changing  colors,  the  procession  of  thecloudvS,  never 
arrested  his  eye.  The  day  star  itself  existed  but  for  com- 
parison with  woman — 

Treit  ein  reine  wip  uiht  guoter  kleider  an, 

so  kleidet  doch  ir  tugent,  als  ich  michs  entstdn, 

daz  si  vil  wol  gebliiemet  gat 

alsam  der  liehte  sunne  hat 

an  einem  tage  sinen  schin. 

{M.  F.,  page  24.) 

Once  clouds  are  mentioned  incidentally  by  Toggenburc  in 
speaking  of  birdsong, — 

da  von  sendes  herzen  muot 

M  alsam  diu  wolken  h6he  swinget. 

(D.  L.,  page  199.) 

Goethe  thus  describes  the  mounting  of  the  white-fleeced 
Cirrus  clouds; 

Doch  immer  hoher  steigt  der  edle  Drang 
Erlosung  ist  ein  himmlisch  leichter  Zwang. 
Ein  aufgehauftes,  flockig  lost  sich  auf , 
Wie  Schaflein  trippelnd  leicht  gelammt  zu  HaUf . 

(I.  page  502.) 

And  Burger  paints  the  wind-driven  clouds  as  sheep  flee- 
ing before  the  wolf, — 

Der  Tauwind  kam  vom  Mittags  Meer 

Und  schnob  durch  Welschland  triib  und  feucht. 


50  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Die  Wolken  flogen  vor  ihm  her, 

Wie  wann  der  Wolf  die  Herde  scheucht. 

(Page  139.) 

Uhland  gives  us  this  picture  of  the  retreating  storm-cloud : 

Schwarze  Wolken  ziehn  hinunter, 
Golden  strahlt  die  Sonne  wieder, 
Fern  verhallen  schon  die  Donner, 
Und  die  Vogelchore  singen. 

(Page  171.) 

I  have  found  no  mention  of  the  rainbow  among  the  Minne- 
singers. Certainly  Walter  does  not  allude  to  it,  though  it  is 
mentioned  in  the  epic  of  this  time.  Goethe  gives  in  four 
lines  a  summer  thunder-storm,  concluding  with  the  bow: 

Grau  und  triib  under  immer  trtiber 
Kommt  ein  Wetter  angezogen; 
Blitz  und  Donner  sind  voriiber 
Euch  erquickt  ein  Regenbogen. 

(I,  page  479.) 

Even  the  gorgeous  sunset  evokes  from  the  Minnesinger 
literally  no  admiration.  He  notices  it  just  as  he  would  a 
flower  by  the  way.  He  never  gets  beyond  the  conventional 
''dbentrot."  When  he  has  applied  this  epithet  his  description 
of  sunset  is  finished,  though  why  he  does  not  see  the  gold  and 
blue,  and  grey  and  green  in  the  clouds  as  elsewhere  is  to  me 
inexplicable.  The  sunset  glow  is  to  him  like  woman's  blush. 
Doubtless,  as  these  other  colors  do  not  appear  in  the  maiden's 
cheek,  they  do  not  appear  in  the  sky  to  the  poet,  for  here  as 
almost  everywhere  he  recognizes  only  those  elements  in 
Nature  which  he  can  appropriate  for  love: 

si  bran  vor  mir  sch6ne 
sam  der  dbentrot. 

(D.  L.,  page  187.) 

or, 

si  roubet  mich  der  sinne  min, 

sist  shoene  alsam  der  sunnen  schin. 

(M.  F.,  page  40.) 

With  this  poverty  of  descriptive  coloring  compare  the  rich 
pen-pictures  which  everywhere  illuminate  the  pages  of  the 
later  poets. 


IN    THE  GERMAN   LYRIC  5 1 

Uhland  thus  depicts  the  breaking  of  the  glow  over  clouds 

and  sea — 

Welche  Glut  ist  ausgegossen 
Ueber  Wolken,  Meer  und  Flur  ! 
Blied  der  goldne  Himmel  offen 
Als  empor  die  Heil'ge  fuhr  ? 

(Page  199.) 

Riickert  gives  this  picture,  beautiful  in  its  simplicity: 

Ein  Schein  der  ew'gen  Jugend  glanzt 

Ins  Erdenthal, 
Die  Hoh'n  mit  Offenbarung  kranzt 

Der  Abendstrahl. 

(Page  155.) 

As  the  Minnesinger  makes  no  note  of  the  gradual  transi- 
tion from  summer  to  winter,  so  he  makes  no  mention  of  the 
hour  when  "the  day  is  gone,  and  the  night  is  not  yet." 
There  is  no  "twilight"  in  his  day,  and  this  is  the  more  not- 
able that  he  is  the  avowed  singer  of  love,  which  is  supposed 
to  flourish  best  in  the  gloaming.  This  omission  may  be 
taken  in  further  evidence  of  his  casual  and  superficial  obser- 
vation of  nat\ire.  He  passes  immediately  from  sunset  to 
starlight  and  moonshine.  Not  so  with  our  later  lover  of 
nature.     For  him  there  is  the  intervening  hour  when 

Die  Lerche  singt  der  Sonne  nach 

Von  hohera  Ort, 
Dann  wird  die  Nachtviole  wach, 
Und  duftet  fort: 

(Ruckert,  page  155.) 
the  change- full  hour,  when 

An  dem  Himmel  herauf  mit  leisen  Schritten 
Kommt  die  duftende  Nacht. 

(Schiller  I,  113) 

lyiining,  in  Die  Natur  (page  268),  comments  upon  the 
use  in  Norse  and  Anglo-Saxon  literature  of  morning  twilight, 
"die  uhte,  die  Vormorgendammerung,"  as  the  waker  of 
gloomy  thoughts,  and  cites  Napoleon  I  as  having  said  that 
he  had  found  among  his  generals  only  two  who  had  courage 
two  hours  before  sunrise.     But  there  seems  to  have  been  no 


52  THE   DBVEI^OPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

recognition  among  the  old  lyrists  of  either  the  morning  or 
the  evening  twilight  as  a  specific  mood  of  the  day. 

We  should  expect  our  singer-of-love  to  be  in  his  element 
beneath  the  canopy  of  night.  Surely  if  anywhere,  here  in 
the  silence  the  manifold  wonders  of  night  will  lure  him  from 
the  thought  of  his  mistress  to  dwell  for  a  moment  at  least 
upon  the  beauties  of  the  star-spangled  sky,  and  he  shall  give 
us  some  evidence  of  love  for  the  world  of  nature. 

We  shall  be  disappointed.  He  is  a  veritable  Romeo,  too 
enamored  to  be  betrayed  for  a  moment  into  forgetfulness  of 
his  Juliet.     If  the  heavens  are  bright, 

"Two  of  the  fairest  stars  in  all  the  heaven, 
Having  some  business  do  entreat  her  eyes 
To  twinkle  in  their  sphere  till  they  return. ' ' 

(Romeo  and  Juliet  Act  II,  Scene  2.) 
The  moon  and  stars  do  but  adorn  his  thoughts  of  her — 

Dirre  tunkel  Sterne,  sich,  der  oirget  sich. 

Als  tuo  du,  frouwe  schoene,  so  du  sehest  mich. 

(M.  F.,  page  10.) 
When  the  full  moon  mounts  the  starry  sky  it  is  not  Diana 
with  her  huntress-train  of  nymphs,  '  'swept  in  the  storm  of 
chase' ' ,  but  his  mistress  among  women — 

Wol  ir,  wie  sie  valsches  ane 
in  wiplichen  ziihten  lebet  i 
Reht  alsam  der  liehte  mdne 
in  den  sternen  dicke  swebet; 

(D.  L.,  page  138); 
or  he  lives  in  her  smile,  as  the  moon  lives  by  the  light  of  the 
sun — 

swenne  si  wil  sd  bin  ich  leides  ane 
min  lachen  stat  s6  bi  sunnen  der  mane. 

(M.  F.,  page  84); 
or, 

ich  muoz  iemer  dem  geliche  spehen 
als  der  mane  sinen  schin 
von  des  sunnen  shin  enpfllt. 

(M.  F.,  page  124.) 

This  mingling  of  night  and  love  appears  in  the  moderns 
but  secondarily.  Goethe  addresses  the  cloud-veiled  moon 
as  she  rises — 


IN    THE    GERMAN    LYRIC  53 

Doch  du  fiihlst,  wie  ich  betiirbt  biu, 
Blickt  dein  Rand  herauf  als  Stern  ! 
Zeugest  mir,  dass  ich  geliebt  bin, 
Sei  das  Liebchen  noch  so  fern; 

(I,  page  405.) 

and  Heine  makes  the  stars  love's  messengers, 

Schone,  helle  goldne  Sterne, 
Griisst  die  Liebste  in  der  Feme, 
Sagt,  dass  ich  noch  immer  sei 
Herzekrank  und  bleich  und  treu. 

(II,  page  7.) 

But  the  night-thoughts  of  the  modern  poets  are  more 
usually  filled  with  admiration  or  wonder  or  awe  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  starry  heavens  and  the  mystery  of  night.  The 
advance  of  astronomy  and  the  opening  of  the  stellar  deeps 
by  the  telescope  may  account  in  part  for  the  element  of  awe 
and  wonder  in  the  later  poets,  but  it  does  not  explain  away 
the  poverty  of  the  Minnesingers.  It  was  before  Galileo  that 
another  lyrist,  standing  under  the  same  vault  of  night,  sang: 
"When  I  consider  thy  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fingers,  the 
moon  and  the  stars  which  thou  hast  ordained,  what  is  man 
that  thou  art  mindful  of  him  ? — for  thou  hast  made  him  a 
little  lower  than  the  angels."  (Ps.  8.)  More  in  keeping 
with  this  exaltation  of  man's  spirit  in  the  conscious  presence 
of  the  sublime  are  Goethe's  lines — 

Und  wenn  mich  am  Tag  die  Feme 

Blauer  Berge  sehnlich  zieht, 

Nachts  das  tlbermass  der  Sterne 

Prachtig  mir  zu  Haupten  gliiht, 

Alle  Tag  und  alle  Nachte 

Riihm  ich  so  des  Menschen  Los; 

Denkt  er  ewig  sich  ins  Rechte,  , 

1st  er  ewig  schon  und  gross. 

(I,  407-8.) 

There  can  scarcely  be  in  literature  a  more  beautiful  ode  to 
Night  as  the  "Allmother  of  lyife,"  than  that  of  Riickert, 
which  begins: 

Nacht  Allmutter  des  lycbens,  ich  preise  dich  herrliche  Gottin, 
Konigin  !  keine  wie  du  kranzet  mit  Sternen  ihr  Haupt. 


54  THK   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Deinen  umfangeiiden  Armen  eutreisseu  sich  trotzige  Sonnen, 
lyieblos  loscheu  sie  aus  deinen  bescheidenden  Glanz; 
Doch  wehniiitig  empfangst  du  am  Abend  jegliche  wieder, 
Ihr  hinsterbendes  Haupt  bergeud  im  duftigen  Schoss. 

(Page  7.) 

We  can  say  of  these  lines  as  Goethe  said  of  these  two  of 
his  own  — 

How  sadly  rises,  incomplete  and  ruddy, 
The  moon's  lone  disc,  with  its  belated  glow; 

to  say  this  "some  previous  observation  of  nature  was  neces- 
sary."    (Taylor's  Translation  of  '"Faust."  Vol.  I,  305.) 

Into  the  following  lines  Korner  has  wrought  the  very 
atmosphere  of  a  still  night;  the  metre  even  helps  to  convey 
the  impression  of  pervading  slumber  — 

Tief  schlummert  die  Natur  in  siissen  Triiumen, 
Und  still  und  diister  wogt  die  kiihle  Nacht; 
Die  Sterne  funkeln  in  des  Himmels  Raumen, 
Der  Silbermond  steigt  auf  in  heil'ger  Pracht. 

(Page  76.) 

Such  close  observation  and  interpretation  of  the  phenomena 
of  Nature,  such  minute  description,  such  entering  into  the 
heart  of  Nature's  mood,  is  foreign  to  the  Minnesingers.  It 
cannot  accompany  cold  indifference.  Nature  does  not 
brook  any  slight.  However  it  may  seem,  the  history  of  the 
nature-sense  among  these  singers  supports  the  words  written 
by  our  American  poet  in  another  connection — 

The  bard  must  be  with  good  intent, 

No  more  his,  but  hers; 
Must  throw  away  his  pen  and  paint. 

Kneel  with  worshippers. — Emerson. 

The  early  poets  did  not  see  the  spirit  of  the  natural  world, 
which  makes  it  worthy  consideration  in  and  for  itself. 
Neither  did  they  appreciate  nature  in  her  sober  and  her 
august  moods.     They  cotild  not  have  said,  with  Korner, 

Wie  die  Nacht  mit  heil'gem  Beben 
Auf  der  stillen  Erde  liegt  ! 

(Page  85.) 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  55 

The  night  brought  no  benediction  to  them.  They  never 
felt  that  "darkness,  like  a  gentle  spirit,"  was  "brooding  o'er 
a  still  and  pulseless  world' ' .  They  saw  individual  stars,  the 
moon,  or  the  sun;  just  as  they  saw  single  flowers  and  birds 
and  trees.  Nowhere  were  the  individuals  blended  into  an 
inspired  whole. 

This  brings  us  to  the  consideration  just  here  of  another 
step  in  the  progress  of  the  nature-sense;  that  is,  the  appre- 
ciation of  the  sublime  in  Nature. 

The  treatment  of  the  suhliyne  might  properly  be  deferred 
till  a  later  chapter,  since  the  sublime  in  Nature  was  practi- 
cally unknown  until  several  centuries  after  the  Minnesingers, 
but  it  is  inserted  here  in  connection  with  the  treatment  of 
Nature  as  inanimate. 


v.— MOUNTAINS,  SEA  AND  STORMS. 

"The  mountain  kingdom  of  which  I  claim  possession  by 
the  law  ot  love,''  says  Ruskin.  If  this  be  the  passport 
to  the  mountains,  we  need  not  expect  any  mention  of  them 
by  the  early  writers.  Men  who  found  sufficiency  in  the  first- 
come  flower  would  scarcely  go  so  far  afield  in  Nature  as  to 
catch  sight  of  the  great  hills,  and,  if  they  did,  what  would 
they  have  to  say  of  them  ?  Green  meadows  and  flowers, 
stars  and  nightingales,  comport  better  with  songs  of  love 
than  do  granite  walls  and  leaping  torrents  and  eternal  snows. 
These  singers  of  love  could  not  follow  Keats,  who,  when  he 
had  imagined  the  future  a  very  "forest  of  Arden,"  sang, 

And  can  I  bid  these  joys  farewell? 
Yes,  I  must  pass  them  for  a  nobler  life. 
Where  I  may  find  the  agonies,  the  strife  of  human  hearts. 

(Page  55.) 

Not  theirs  to  sing  the  "nobler  life,"  not  theirs  to  see  in 
Nature's  sublimer  moods  an  echo  of  the  "agonies,  the  strife 
of  human  hearts."  We  shall  have  to  leave  the  field  of  the 
simple  love-lyric  before  we  may  expect  to  find  a  feeling  for 
the  sublime  in  Nature.  Men  were  slow  in  coming  to  an 
appreciation  of  the  grandeur  in  Nature.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
this  appreciation  does  not  appear  until  some  five  hundred 
years  after  the  Minnesingers,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and 
when  the  Romantic  movement  has  set  in  strongly.  Rous- 
seau was  the  pioneer  in  this  field.  He  was  the  first  to 
reveal  to  men  the  beauties  of  mountain  scenery;  the  first  to 
find  solace  in  the  wildness  of  Nature.  Biese  says : 
"It  was  Rousseau  who  first  struck  the  deepest 
note  of  inspiration  for  the  beauty  of  the  great  mountains." 
This  tardiness  in  the  growth  of  the  nature-sense  is  not 
peculiar  to  the  French  literature.  Miss  Reynolds,  in 
Nature  in  English  Poetry  (p.  7)  says,  "Rarely  in  the  long 
period  between  Waller  and  Wordsworth  do  we  find  any  trace 
of   the   modern   feeling   towards   mountains.      If    they   are 


IN    THE  GERMAN   LYRIC  57 

Spoken  of  at  all  it  is  to  indicate  the  difficulty  in  surmounting 
them  or  to  express  the  general  distaste  for  anything  so  sav- 
agely and  untameably  wild.  In  no  case  does  a  sense  of  the 
sublimity  and  beauty  of  mountains  find  or  even  apparently 
seek  expression." 

Professor  Palgrave,  in  Landscape  in  Poetry  (p.  177) 
cites  Wordsworth  as  saying  that  although,  during  the  resi- 
dence of  Burns  at  Mossgiel  Farm,  splendid  mountain  scenery 
must  have  been  constantly  before  his  eyes,  he  nowhere  has 
noticed  it. 

Biese  (p.  94),  speaking  of  the  times  of  Crusades,  says  of 
the  Alps,  "The  geographical  knowledge  of  these  mountains 
is  very  slow  at  first  in  appearing:  of  an  aesthetic  enjoyment 
of  Alpine  beauty  there  can  be,  therefore,  no  mention." 
And  again  (p.  393),  "Goethe  is  the  first  German  poet  who 
feels  most  deeply  the  romantic  grandeur  of  the  snow  covered, 
ice-crowned  mountains,  and  pictures  them  with  inimitable 
mastery. ' ' 

Various  writers  attribute  this  early  hostility  to  mountains 
to  personal  discomfort  and  danger  incurred  by  mountain 
travel.  Professor  Palgrave  says  (p.  180),  "There  was  noth- 
ing of  charm,  no  romance,  in  the  painfulness  with  which 
mountain  regions  were  traversed  two  hundred  years  since 
and  later;  nor  could  the  discomforts  of  the  road  allure  a 
traveller's  mind  to  the  contemplation  of  the  Sublime." 
Miss  Reynolds  makes  this  significant  remark  (p.  7):  "It 
is  interesting  to  note  that  passages  expressing  the  most  act- 
ive dislike  of  mountains  show  really  some  close  observation 
and  a  good  deal  of  picturesque  energy  of  phrase.  They 
were  evidently  the  outcome  of  personal  experience. ' '  This 
might  explain  the  "energy  of  phrase,''  but  scarcely  accounts 
for  the  absence  of  mountain-love  in  the  writers.  The  "per- 
sonal experience"  is  the  common  experience  of  all  mountain 
tourists  even  to  our  day.  Heine  says,  with  an  emphasis 
b»rn  of  experience, 

Wenn  du  den  steilen  Berg  ersteigst, 
Wirst  du  betrachtlich  achzen; 


58  THE   DKVKI.OPMKNT   OP   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Doch  wenn  du  den  felsigen  Gipfel  erreichst, 
Horst  du  die  Adler  krachzen. 

(I,  page  294.) 

The  toil  of  ascent  did  not,  however,  prevent  Heine,  in 
contemplation  of  the  mountains,  from  feeling  himself  an 
eagle. 

The  conveniences  of  travel  were  not  markedly  different  in 
the  days  of  Walter  and  of  Goethe:  certainly  not  different 
in  those  of  Rousseau  and  of  Waller;  nor  were  the  dangers 
from  elements  or  robbers  materially  different  for  these  dif 
ferent  men.  Moreover — a  fact  not  generally  recognized  by 
the  commentators — mountain  climbing  is  not  essential  to 
love  of  mountains.  Schiller  wrote  '-'William  Tell"  without 
ever  having  seen  the  Alps.  The  Hartz  mountains  were  not 
so  wild  nor  so  inaccessible  as  the  Alps,  and  yet  Mr.  Biese 
informs  us  (p.  355)  that  "Zimmermann  first  broke  the  road 
to  the  Harz  in  1775,''  that  is,  three  years  before  Rousseau's 
death,  and  after  the  Alps  had  been  opened;  all  which  he 
attributes  to  easier  travel  over  improved  roads. 

We  gather  from  Rousseau's  "Confessions''  that  it  was  not 
improved  roads  nor  physical  comfort,  but  something  which 
had  little  to  do  with  either,  which  enabled  him  to  behold 
beauty  in  the  great  mountains.  Ruskin  comes  near  the 
truth  when  be  says,  "Your  power  of  seeing  mountains  can- 
not be  developed  either  by  your  vanity,  your  curiosity,  or 
your  love  of  muscular  exercise.  It  depends  on  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  instrument  of  sight  itself,  and  of  the  soul  that 
uses  it"  (Porter,  180).  That  is  the  explanation  of  the  mat- 
ter. The  trouble  with  those  poets  was  not  inability  to  travel 
but  inability  to  see.  It  is  the  same  inability  which  we  have 
noticed  running  through  all  the  early  literature.  They  did 
not  see  the  flowers,  nor  the  clouds,  nor  the  autumn  colors. 
They  did  not  see  the  hills  that  rose  against  their  own  horizon. 
Naturally,  then,  when  by  force  of  necessity  they  go  through 
the  Alps,  they  do  not  see  the  mountains  but  only  feel  the 
discomfort.  If  Walter  or  Waller  had  been  transported  in  a 
Pullman  car  to  Interlaken  he  would  still  have  been  silent  on 
mountain  scenery,  because  having  eyes  he  saw  not. 


IN    THE   GERMAN    LYRIC  59 

When  men  begin  reallj^  to  open  their  eyes  on  the  side  of 
Nature,  we  shall  soon  find  them  interested  in  mountain 
scenery.  This  explanation  based  on  discomfort  would  not 
apply,  in  accounting  for  the  absence  of  seascapes  from 
the  literature,  and  mountains  and  sea  go"  hand  in  hand 
in  literature  as  Ihey  do  in  geography — the  highest  mountains 
always  facing  the  deepest  seas:  ability  to  appreciate  the  one 
being  sufficient  evidence  regarding  the  other.  Biese  (p.  320) 
speaking  of  F.  Stolberg  (cir.  1775),  says  "until  this  time 
mountain  and  sea  had  not  played  scarcely  any  role  in  Ger- 
man poetry;"  and  elsewhere  speaking  of  these  elements  in 
Dutch  art  of  the  17th  and  i8th  centuries,  he  says,  "moun- 
tain and  sea  do  not  find  their  inspired  word- painters  till  one 
hundred  years  later."  Miss  Reynolds  (p.  14)  notes  the  lack 
of  appreciation  in  the  i8th  century.  "It  was  simply  a  waste 
of  waters,  dangerous  at  times,  and  always  wearisome. 
Though  more  often  mentioned  than  the  mountains  it  (ocean) 
received  an  even  more  narrow  and  conventional  treatment.'' 
Professor  Palgrave  (p.  118),  confirms  this  statement. 
Speaking  of  the  "Franklin's  Tale''  in  Chaucer,  he  says, 
"Dorigen  goes  on  to  speak  of  the  hundred  thousand  whom 
she  fancies  have  been  dashed  against  rocks  and  slain.  This 
is  the  general  aspect  of  the  sea  in  our  poetry  till  modern  days. ' ' 
L,{ining  (p.  92),  in  treatment  of  the  Epic,  says:  "The  mid- 
dle high  German  poets  sddom  fail  to  apply  to  the  sea  the 
epithet  vnld  or  some  such." 

The  inland  position  of  Germany  might  seem  to  account 
for  the  absence  of  the  sea  from  the  writings  of  the  Minne- 
singers, if  we  did  not  know  that  they  travelled  far,  and  that 
even  Venice  and  Naples  failed  to  elicit  from  them  one  word 
of  admiration.  Here  is  further  evidence  that  easy  access  to 
the  phenomena  of  Nature  has  little  to  do  with  an  appreciation 
of  them,  for  "Strange  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  yet  true  that  the 
poets  of  sea-girt  England  were  very  slow  in  making  the  dis- 
covery of  the  ocean."      (Reynolds,  p.  16). 

The  power  to  see  these  things,  call  it  Romanticism  or  what 
not,  depends  at  last  upon  the  long  "cultivation  of  the  instru- 
ment of  sight  itself,  and  of  the  soul  that  uses  it." 


6o      THE  DBVKLOPMKNT  OF  THE  NATURE-SENSE 

We  are  then  not  surprised  to  find  this  appreciation  wholly 
lacking  in  the  poets  of  the  13th  century.  Toggenburc  barely 
mentions  moimtaiiis  once  along  with  flowers  and  clover,  show- 
ing utter  inappreciation  by  that  very  association,  and  at  once 
waves  all  aside  as  not  worthy  of  mention  in  comparison  with 
the  roses  on  her  cheek — 

Bluomen  loup  kle  berge  und  tal 
und  des  meien  sumersiieziu  wunne 
Diu  sint  gegen  dem  rosen  val 
so  min  vrowe  treit. 

(D.  L,.,  page  200.) 

A  few  selections  will  serve  to  show  the  presence  of  moun- 
tain and  sea  in  the  i8th  and  19th  century  poetry. 

Goethe  speaks  of  the  snow-crowned  Alps  in  these  beauti- 
ful words: 

War  doch  gestern  dein  Haupt  noch   so  braun  wie  die  Locke 

der  Ivieben 
Deren  holdes  Gebild  still  aus  der  Feme  mich  winkt; 
Silbergrau  bezeichnet  dir  friih  der  Schnee  nun  die  Gipfel 
Der  sich  in  stiirmender  Nacht  dir  um  den   Scheitel   ergross. 

(I,  page  i85.> 
And  Schiller,  in  Bergleid,  sings- 
Am  Abgrund  leitet  der  schwindlichte  Steg. 
Er  fiihrt  zwischen  Leben  und  Sterben; 
Es  sperren  die  Riesen  den  einsamen  Weg 
Und  drohen  dir  ewig  Verderben; 
Und  willst  du  die  schlafende  lyOwin  nicht  wecken, 
So  wandle  still  durch  die  Strasse  der  Schrecken. 

(I,  page  121.) 

Koruer  strikes  another  note  in  'mountain  song — that  of 
delight, 

Hoch  auf  dem  Gipfel 

Deiner  Gebirge 

Steh'  ich  und  staun'  ich, 

Gliihend  begeistert, 

Heilige  Koppe 

Himmelanstiirmerin. 

(Page  89.) 

Chamisso  gives  us  this  picture  of  the  snow- capped  peaks 
towering  into  the  blue  sky  of  morning— 


IN    THE    GERMAN    LYRIC  6l 

Und  meine  Berge  erheben 

Die  schneeigen  Haupter  zumal 

Und  tausclien  in  dunkle  Blaue 

Und  gliihen  im  Morgenstrahl. 

Und  lauschen  iiber  den  Hochwald, 

Der  schimmernd  die  Gletscher  umspannt 

In  unser  Thai  heriiber 

Und  schauen  mich  an  so  bekannt. 

(Page  42.) 

Here  is  a  sort  of  affectionate  companionship  with  the 
mountain. 

Heine  is  notable  among  the  lovers  of  the  sea,  portraying 
all  its  moods  in  his  poems.  In  "Nordsee''  he  gives  this  fine 
picture  of  sunset — over  the  troubled  waters. 

Die  Sonne  neigte  sich  tiefer  und  warf 

Gliihrote  Streifen  auf  das  Wasser, 

Und  die  weissen,  weiten  Wellen, 

Von  der  Flut  gedrangt, 

Schaumten  und  rauschten  naher  und  naher, 

(I,  page  164) 

with  which  may  be  contrasted  his  description  of  a  calm — 

Meeresstille  i     Ihre  Strahlen 
Wirft  die  Sonne  auf  das  Wasser, 
Und  im  wogenden  Geschmeide 
Zieht  das  SchifE  die  griinen  Furchen. 

(I,  page  174.) 

Lenau  attributes  to  the  calm  more  power  over  his  spirit 
than  to  the  storm ; 

Sturm  mit  seinen  Donnerschliigen 
Kann  mir  niclit  wie  du 
So  das  tiefste  Herz  bewegen, 
Tiefe  Meeresruh. 

(Page  123.) 

And  Herder,  in  "Am  Meer  bei  Neapel,"  gives  us  a  glimpse 
of  that  scene  which  the  Minnesinger  on  his  visit  to  the  same 
shore  had  entirely  missed — 

Ermiidet  von  des  Sommers  schwerem  Brande, 
Setzt  ich  danieder  mich  ans  kiihle  Meer 
Die  Wellen  wallten  kiissend  hin  zum  Strande 


62  THE  de;vei,opment  of  the  nature-sense 

Des  grauen  Ufers,  das  rings  um  mich  her 
In  seinem  frischen,  blumichten  Gewande 
Auffing  der  Schmetterlinge  gaukelnd  Heer. 

(I,  pp.  253-4.) 

Riickert  in  "Sicilianen"  acknowledges  the  charm  which 
those  Italian  waters  had  for  him — 

Ich  schaukelte  durch's  Meer  auf  schwankem  Kahne, 
Und  macht'  auf  einem  Bluteneilaud  and  Rast. 

Und  wie  dem  Aug'  die  einz'len  Farben  starben 
Im  Griin  der  See  und  in  der  I^uft  Azur; 
Empfand  mein  Herz,  vergessend  alter  Narben, 
Uneudlichkeit  der  Lieb'  und  Sehnsucht  nur. 

(Page  64.) 

Another  manifestation  of  the  sublime  in  Nature  which  the 
poets  were  slow  to  discover  is  the  storm.  We  associate  in  our 
minds,  I  think,  storms  with  mountains  or  sea — certainly  with 
some  large  phenomenon  of  the  outer  world;  which  is  but  to 
say  that  we  preserve  in  thought — unconsciously,  perhaps — 
the  harmony  of  Nature.  The  cradle  of  the  storm  is  on  the 
deep  or  upon  the  great  plains  or  about  the  mountain  crags. 
It  sweeps  across  the  sky.  There  is  no  littleness  associated 
with  the  tempest  in  our  minds.  It  does  not  destroy  the  flow- 
ers, it  "breaketh  the  cedars  of  Lebanon — and  layeth  the  for- 
ests bear."  To  know  the  storm,  that  is,  to  stand  before  it 
without  fear,  demands  some  feeling  of  sublimity.  Old  Cali- 
ban fell  down  in  mortal  terror  before  the  tempest.  So  long 
as  men  have  not  discovered  the  depth  of  the  sky,  nor  the 
expanse  of  the  landscape,  nor  the  existence  of  the  mountain, 
there  is  no  place  for  the  storm  in  their  thought.  There  was 
no  inconvenience  of  travel  standing  between  the  early  poets 
and  an  appreciation  of  the  storm,  and  it  will,  therefore,  be 
interesting  to  notice  in  just  how  far  they  mentioned  the 
storm,  and  in  what  way.  As  the  Minnesinger  has  thus  far 
noticed  those  phenomena  of  Nature  which  evoke  more  gentle 
and  pleasant  feelings,  we  should  not  be  surprised  to  find  him 
occupying  the  same  attitude  towards  the  winds.  He  does 
not,  in  fact,  speak  of  the  strong  winds,  the  fierce  storms,  the 


IN  the;    GERMAN    I.YRIC  63 

lightning  and  thunder,  and  the  angry  clouds;  but  mentions 
only  the  gentle  winds,  the  zephyrs,  that  bring  him  a  message 
from  his  mistress — 

Sta  bi  la  mich  den  wint  an  wejen 

der  kumt  von  mines  herzen  kuninginne. 

(D.  ly.,  page  126); 

Walter's  usual  epithet  for  a  trifle  is  "eiu  wint".  Once  he 
mentions  the  storm,  but  in  a  figurative  connection  represent- 
ing some  threatening  disaster — 

Owe!  ez  kumt  ein  wint,  daz  wizzet  sicherliche, 
da  von  wir  hoeren  beide  singen  unde  sagen; 
der  sol  mit  grimme  ervaren  elliu  kiinicriche, 
daz  hoere  ich  waller  unde  pilgerine  klagen, 
bourne,  tiirne  ligent  vor  im  zerslagen. 

(Page  304.) 

Heinrich  von  Moruugeu  mentions  the  wind  in  one  line — 

Min  staeter  muot  geltchet  niht  dem  winde; 

(M.  F..  page  136.) 

and  Hohenvels  gives  an  echo  of  a  summer  storm  in  these 
lines — 

Do  der  luft  mit  sunnen  fiure 

wart  getempert  und  gemischet, 

Dar  gab  wazzer  sine  stiure, 

da  wart  erde  ir  lip  erfrischet. 

(D.  h.,  page  151.) 

Not  the  slightest  trace  in  any  of  these  rare  instances  of 
an  appreciation— only  the  barest  mention,  and  that  mostly 
in  figures. 

These  two  lines  from  Walter's  "Das  Chamaleon"  are  a 
rare  exception — 

in  sime  siiezen  honege  lit  ein  giftig  nagel; 

sin  wolkenlosez  lachen  bringet  scharpfen  hagel. 

(Page  255-6.) 

He  compares  the  changeable  character  to  the  weather 
which  sends  a  shower  of  sharp  hail  while  it  smiles  upon  you 
through  the  shower.     Even  this  selection  shows  an  apprecia- 


64  THE   DEVEI.OPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SKNSB 

tion  by  Inference  rather  than  directly.     Another  world  has 
opened  to  men  when  they  can  say  with  Lenau — 

Der  Himmel  donnert  seinen  Hader; 
Auf  seiner  dunklen  Stirne  gliiht 
Der  Blitz  hervor,  die  Zornesader, 
Die  Schrecken  auf  die  Erde  spriiht. 
Der  Regen  stiirzt  in  lauten  Giissen; 
Mit  Baumen,  die  der  Sturm  zerbrach, 
Erbraust  der  Strom  zu  meinen  Fiissen; 
Doch  schweigt  der  Donner  allgemach. 

(Page  104.) 

The  sea,  the  mountains,  and  the  storm  were  known  and 
appreciated  in  all  their  phases  by  the  poets  of  the  later  period. 
The  discovery  of  the  sky  and  storm  in  literature  marks  a 
revelation  scarcely  less  significant  than  Galileo's  discovery  by 
which  the  heavens  ceased  to  be  a  low-hanging  roof  and  became 
the  fathomless,  animate  depths  of  the  universe.  The  one 
opened  a  limitless  field  for  thought, the  other  a  boundless  scope 
for  imagination.  Only  in  the  great  spaces  is  there  room  for  the 
sublime — whether  in  the  realm  of  mind  or  of  matter.  Only 
because  the  Hebrew  lyrist  had  broken  through  the  low  sky- 
vault  and  sung  "how  excellent  is  thy  name  in  all  the  earth  ! 
who  hast  set  thy  glory  above  the  heavens" — only  because  he 
saw  the  depths  of  sky  could  he  also  sing  in  the  shadow  of  the 
tempest,  "The  voice  of  the  L,ord  is  upon  the  waters:  the  God 
of  glory  thundereth."  Only  because  men  had  learned  the 
wonder  of  the  boundless  blue  expanse  could  they  sing,  with 
Chamisso,  unafraid, — 

Den  stillen  Schoss  der  dunklen  Nacht  durchdringen 
Des  Donners  Schmettertone;  schwarz  umzogen 
Wolbt  unheilschwanger  sich  der  hehre  Bogen, — 
Die  Sterne  loschen — Elemente  ringen, — 
Der  Feuerengel  schiittelt  wild  die  Schwingen; 
Es  stiirzen  Feuer — stiirzen  Wasserwogen; 
Des  Windes  Heulen  stbhnet  langgezogen 
Im  Sturme  ahn  ich  hohrer  Wesen  Ringen. 

(Page  388.) 


IN    THS   GERMAN   LYRIC  65 

The  discovery  of  the  depths  of  Nature  in  literature  marks 
the  opening  of  a  corresponding  depths  in  man — it  is  deep 
answering  unto  deep — a  discovery  which  depends,  let  us 
repeat,  "upon  the  cultivation  of  the  soul," 

The  absence  of  Mountain,  Sky  and  Sea  from  the  literature 
of  the  Minnesingers  is  a  natural  omission  at  this  stage  in  the 
development  of  the  nature-sense. 


TI.— PERSONIFICATION  OF  NATURE. 

Thus  far  we  have  treated  Nature  as  set  over  against  man — 
something  outside  him  and  separated  from  him — something 
to  be  seen,  counted,  catalogued,  admired  and  enjoyed,  with 
which,  however,  man  had  nothing  in  common,  a  foreign 
world — a  soulless  world.  Henceforward  we  shall  have  to 
treat  it  as  animate,  having  more  and  more  in  common  with 
man,  as  he  grows  to  see  more  and  more  unity  in  the  world, 
until  we  come  to  that  stage  where  men  see  the  same  spirit 
pervading  the  natural  world  and  the  human  world,  see  the 
same  moods  in  Nature  which  they  feel  in  their  own  bosoms, 
find  the  outer  world  answering  to  them  in  all  their  experi- 
ences, glad  when  they  are  glad,  sad,  when  they  sorrow, 
passionate  with  them;  till  men  shall  say,  with  Wordsworth, 
"How  exquisitely  the  individual  Mind  to  the  external  World 
is  fitted:  and  how  exquisitely,  too,  the  external  World  is 
fitted  to  the  Mind". 

The  first  step  towards  bridging  over  this  wide  gulf  between 
man  and  Nature  would  be  in  discovering  analogies  between 
the  two  worlds.  This  in  itself  is  unimportant,  but  it  leads 
immediately  to  a  vital  step.  Men  noted  that  the  rose  was 
red  and  woman's  blush  was  red,  therefore,  "her  cheek  was 
like  the  rose" — a  superficial  analogy.  But  the  next  step 
was  to  attribute  the  same  cause  to  the  two  effects,  and  make 
"the  rose  blush  upon  the  thorn."  The  mistress  was  radiant 
above  other  women,  so  she  was  like  the  moon  moving  among 
the  stars;  and  forthwith  the  moon  took  on  all  the  attributes 
of  woman — became  personified. 

It  is  first  through  the  medium  of  figures  that  life  flows 
from  man  to  fill  the  channels  of  Nature.  It  has  always  been 
analogies  that  have  first  led  men  to  see  themselves  in  Nature. 
Among  the  Greeks  this  analogy  became  mythology,  wherein 
gods  with  human  qualities  lurked  behind  the  visible  phe- 
nomena of  Nature.     The  pink  dawn  came  to  be  Aurora  ris- 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  67 

ing  from  the  couch  of  Tithonus;  the  sun  became   the  ardent 
Apollo  shooting  golden  arrows,  and 

The  nightly  hunter,  lifting  a  bright  eye 
Up  towards  the  crescent  moon,  with  grateful  heart 
Called  on  the  lovely  wanderer  who  bestowed 
That  timely  light,  to  share  his  joyous  sport: 
And  hence  a  beaming  goddess,  with  her  Nymphs 
Across  the  lawn  and  through  the  darksome  grove 

Swept  in  the  storm  of  chase;  as  moon  and  stars 
Glance  rapidly  along  the  clouded  heaven. 
When  winds  are  blowing  strong. 

(Wordsworth,  p.  517.) 

Among  the  moderns  this  movement  finally  developed  into 
a  "Higher  Pantheism"  where  the  poet  asks — 

The  sun,  the  moon,  the   stars,  the  seas,  the  hills  and  the 

plains — 
Are  not  these,  O  Soul,  the  Vision  of  Him  who  reigns  ? 

(Tennysou,  p.  188.) 

Step  by  step  men  drew  nearer  to  Nature  and  found  Nature 
drawing  nearer  to  them.  First  she  was  a  silence,  then  a 
murmur,  then  a  voice,  then  a  companion,  and  when  finally 
men  passed  through  Nature  to  Nature's  God,  she  became  a 
Gospel,  and  Arndt  sang, 

Ihr  siisse  Blumen,  griine  Haine 
O  seid  ihr  endlich  wieder  mein  ? 
Ich  euch  geborgen  gar  alleine: 
Doch  nie  bin  ich  bei  euch  allein 
Ihr  sprecht  mit  wmndersamer  Stimme 
Die  einz'ge  Sprache  ohneTrug, 
Der  Vogel  predigt  hier,  die  Imme, 
Der  Blutenzweig  wie  Gottes  Buch. 

O  Gottes  Buch  !     o  heil'ge  Machte  ! 
Hier  brecht  ihr  alle  Siegel  auf  : 
Heheimnis  stummer  Mitternachte 
Und  Sonnenlauf  und  Mondenlauf 
Und  was  von  irren  Wandelsternen 
Die  tiefe  Menschenbrust  durchkreist, 
Kann  heir  der  stille  Lauscher  lernen. 
Wo  alles  hoch  nach  oben  weist. 

(Page  222.) 


68  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

This  first  step  analogy,  with  its  consequent  step  personifi- 
cation, was  of  immense  import  to  men,  first  adorning  their 
language  with  the  beautiful  figures  of  speech,  and  opening 
up  a  field  of  illustration  which  becomes  broader  and  more 
inexhaustible  as  men's  lives  are  broadened,  till  today  it  is  the 
chief  means  by  which  man  passes  thought  to  man.  And 
secondly,  it  broadened  the  world  to  him,  by  making  every 
tiniest  flower  or  towering  peak  of  interest,  as  being  his  fel- 
low-creatures, multiplying  his  loves  and  sympathies,  making 
every  hill-side  and  dell  and  flowing  stream  speak  to  him  in 
the  language  of  his  own  heart,  swelling  the  brotherhood  of 
man  to  universal  brotherhood,  wherein  even  the  stars  had 
part  and  influence.  Henceforward  man  was  not  alone  nor  lone- 
some in  the  world,  but  from  every  object  in  Nature  poured 
in  upon  him  streams  of  influence,  and  from  him  went  back 
to  them  streams  of  sympathy. 

How  significant  this  step  was  may  best  be  expressed  in 
the  words  of  our  own  Nature-prophet,  Emerson:  "These  are 
not  the  dreams  of  a  few  poets,  here  and  there,  but  man  is  an 
analogist,  and  studies  relations  in  all  objects.  He  is  placed 
in  the  centre  of  things,  and  a  ray  of  relation  passes  from 
every  other  being  to  him.  And  neither  can  man  be  under- 
stood without  these  objects,  nor  these  objects  without  man. 
All  the  facts  in  natural  history,  taken  by  themselves,  have 
no  value,  but  are  barren,  like  a  single  sex.  But  marry  it  to 
human  history  and  it  is  full  of  life."     (Nature,  p.  28.) 

This  bridge  of  figures  led  the  old  poets  naturally  only  into 
the  restricted  field  of  Nature  which  they  knew;  but  such 
passage  as  it  was  they  made  it,  a  passage  as  significant  in 
principle  as  is  the  later  appropriation  of  the  manifold  mod- 
ern world.  We  cannot  expect  from  these  early  pioneers 
great  innovation,  seeing  that  they  were  notably  conventional 
in  their  reference  to  Nature,  but  even  here  the  stronger  ones 
were  at  times  strikingly  original  in  their  observation  of 
analogy,  and  left  the  beaten  track  of  the  conventional  to 
bring  in  a  forceful  new  figure  from  Nature. 

A  recital  of  the  figures  used  will  be  largely  a  repetition  of 
what  has  already  been  said,  for  it  has  been  pointed  out  that 


IN  THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  69 

the  old  bard's  use  of  Nature  was  almost  always  as  accessory 
to  love.  His  figures  are,  therefore,  generally  confined  to 
such  phenomena  as  are  in  harmony  with  the  gentle  mood  of 
love.  The  coming  of  spring  is  like  the  flowering  of  his  heart 
under  love's  sunshine;  the  falling  leaves  suggest  fading  love, 

Diu  linde  ist  an  dem  ende  nu  jarlanc  lieht  unde  bloz. 
mich  vehet  min  geselle:  nu  engilte  ich  des  ich  nie  genoz. 

(D.  L.,  page  289.) 

Winter  is  but  a  figure  of  love's  death.  Spring  triumphs 
over  winter  when  he  triumphs  in  love.  The  rose  and  wo- 
man's lips  are  a  common  figure,  "ein  rosenvarwer  mund,'' 
"uz  einem  miindel  rot  sam  die  rosen,"  "so  hat  si  einen  roten 
rosen  gezzen".  Her  cheek  is  like  a  rose  "ir  roselohez 
wange".  An  unusual  comparison  is  Diirner's  tribute  to  her 
cheek  as  "rosen  rot  gestroit  uf  wizen  sne'',  and  Morungen's 
"doch  wast  ir  varwe  liljen  wiz  und  rosen  rot".  Woman  is 
like  a  rose  in  the  dew, 

Waz  gelichet  sich  der  wunne 
da  ein  rose  in  touwe  stat  ? 
Nieman  danne  ein  schoenez  wip. 

(D.  L.,  page  211.) 

She  is  like  "the  sun",  "the  sun  at  morning",  "the  cloud- 
less sun",  "the  sun  in  dark  clouds".  Her  blush  is  "sam 
der  abentrot".  Her  eyes  are  "like  the  stars",  "W^  ist  nu 
hin  min  liehter  morgensterne?"  A  frequent  figure  for  woman 
is  the  moon, 

Reht  alsam  der  lichte  mane 
in  den  sternen  dicke  swebet 
Dem  stat  wol  gelich  diu  reine; 

(D.  L.,  page  183) 
or, 

und  saz  vor  mir  diu  Hebe  wolgetane 
geblecket  rehte  alsam  ein  voller  mane. 

(M.  F.,  page  136.) 

Her  smile  is  like  sunlight  on  the  moon — 

swenne  si  wil,  so  bin  ich  leides  ane. 
min  lachen  stat  so  bi  sunnen  der  mane. 

(M.  F.,  page  84.) 


70  THK  db;vblopmknt  of  the  naturk-sense 

Such  references  occur  frequently  in  the  writings  of  these 
poets.  But  not  all  their  figures  are  stereotyped.  Some  of 
them  show  an  originality  and  an  observation  of  the  things 
mentioned,  and  occur  rarely.     For  instance,  Trostberc  says: 

Ob  in  einem  waldc  ein  linde 
triiege  rosen  liehtgevar, 


Reht  alsame  diu  frowe  min 
hat  die  tugent, 

(D.  L.,  page  238) 

and  Dietmar,  using  the  figure  of  a  ship,  says: 

der  bin  ich  worden  undertan 
als  das  schif  dem  .stiure  man. 

(M.  F.,  page  38.) 

Otte  zem  Turne  compares  his  mistress  to  the  eagle: 

So  froit  sich  mtn  sender  muot 
saz  mins  herzen  spilndiu  sunne, 


hoehet  als  der  adelar. 

(D.  L.,  page  286.) 

He  is  fond  of  the  figure  of  the  eagle.     The  swallow  is  a 
symbol  both  of  constancy  and  inconstancy; 

dur  daz  volge  ich  der  swal 

dim  liez  durch  Hebe  noch  dur  leide  ir  singen  nie, 

(M.  F.,  page  127) 

and  elsewhere, 

Ein  swal  klent  von  leime  ein  hiuselin, 
Das  inn  ist  des  sumers  ein  vil  kurze  vrist. 
got  viiege  mir  ein  hus  mit  obedache. 

(D.  L.,  page  iii.) 

Still  other  original  figures  are  "tears like  the  dew",  "heart 
like  adamant",  and  Morungen's  lines, 

Mich  enziindet  ir  vil  liehter  ougen  schin 
same  daz  fiur  den  diirren  zunder  tuot. 

(M.  F.,  page  126.) 

Walter  is  by  far  the  most  original  of  all  the  early  poets  in 
the  selection  of  figures,  as  he  is  elsewhere.     In  his  "Klage 


IN    THE    GERMAN    LYRIC  7 1 

tjber  den  Verfall  der  Kuust,"  he  speaks  of  certain  poor, 
self-satisfied  singers,— 

die  tuont  sam  die  frosche  in  eime  se, 
den  ir  schrien  also  wol  behaget, 
daz  diu  nahtegal  da  von  verzaget, 
so  si  gerne  sunge  me — 

(Page  141) 

the  nightingale  being  himself  doubtless.  His  prince's  kind- 
ness is  like  rain,  and  the  prince,  a  fair  meadow  where  one 
may  gather  many  flowers, 

des  fiirsten  milte  uz  Osterriche 
freut  dem  siiezen  regen  geliche 
beidiu  liute  und  ouch  daz  lant 
er  ist  ein  schoene  wol  gezieret  heide, 
dar  abe  man  bluomen  brichet  wunder. 

(Page  185.) 

A  similar  reference  to  the  benefaction  of  the  gentle  rain  is 
found  in  a  parallel  figure  from  Uolrich  von  Guotenburc, 

Ir  schoener  gruoz  ir  milter  segen, 
mit  eime  senften  nigen, 
daz  tuot  mir  eimen  meien  regen 
reht  an  daz  herze  sigen. 

(M.  F.,  page  69.) 

And  Walter  compares  inconstancy  to  the  clover  that  fades, 

swer  hiure  schallet  unde  ist  hin  ze  jare  boese  als  e, 
des  lop  gruonet  unde  valwet  so  der  kle. 
der  Diirnge  bluome  schinet  durch  den  sne. 

(Page  215.) 

The  Minnesinger  speaks  of  the  closer,  as  he  would  of  the 
rose  or  the  lily;  but  in  the  later  times  the  flower  seems  to 
have  lost  caste  with  the  poets. 

Walter  speaks  of  the  court  under  the  figure  of  a  garden 
full  of  weeds  and  good  plants.  He  arraigns  the  Pope  for  his 
corruption,  ending  with  this  line — 

"sin  hirte  ist  z'einem  wolve  im  worden  under  sinen  schafen." 

(Page  216.) 

He  compares  the  improvident  and  the  provident  under  the 


72  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OP   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

figure  of  crickets  and  ants — a  slight  variation  of  our  time- 
honored  fable. 

Of  figures  from  the  sterner  phases  of  Nature,  representing 
the  deeper  or  more  serious  moods  of  man,  there  are  none,  as 
there  was  no  recognition  of  this  side  of  Nature  for  its  own 
sake. 

The  songs  of  the  modern  poets  are  too  full  of  strong,  orig- 
inal figures  to  call  for  any  exhaustive  consideration  of  this 
element  in  their  writings.  The  following  general  allusions 
and  a  few  selections  will  amply  suffice  for  a  comparison  of 
the  two  periods. 

In  evidence  of  the  more  varied  use  of  figures,  and  the 
broader  field  of  analogy,  Goethe  speaks  of  life  as  tree  and 
fruit;  love  is  water;  his  dead  friend  is  a  transplanted  tree; 
the  soul  is  like  rain  that  comes  from  heaven  and  returns. 
Of  his  song  he  says: 

Dem  Geier  gleich, 

Der  auf  schweren  Morgenwolken 

Mit  sauftem  Fittich  ruhend 

Nach  Beute  schaut, 

Schwebe  mein  I,ied. 

(I,  page  364,) 

To  Biirger  the  friend  is  a  young  eagle  in  full  flight;  love, 
sunshine  through  rifted  clouds;  modesty,  a  flower;  "sinnen- 
liebe,"  a  butterfly.     And  life — 

Dein  I,eben,  Beste  gleich'  in  Bilde 
Dem  Bach,  der  stets  heiter  fliesst 
Und  durch  ein  schones  Lenzgefilde 
Sich  ruhig  in  das  Meer  ergiesst, 

(Page  135) 
and  death, 

Herrlich  und  hehr  war  deines  Scheidens  Gang, 
Wie  der  Mond  auf  blauer  zitternder  Woge. 
Nur  liesst  du  uns  im  Dunkel, 
O  erstes  der  Madchen,  zuriick. 

(Page  206. 

Herder  sees  life  fade  like  the  rose;  songs  are  butterflies,  or 
flying  leaves;  love,  a  rosebud;  time  is  like  wind  or  wave; 
life,  a  stream;  I^uther  is  an  oak  tree;  and  passion— 


IN    THE    GERMAN    LYRIC  73 

Diinste  steigen  auf  und  werdeu 
In  den  Wolken  Blitz  und  Douner 
Oder  Regentropfen. 
Diinste  steigen  auf  und  werden 
In  dem  Haupte  Zorn  und  Unmut, 
Oder  werden  Thranen. 

(I,  page  199.) 

I  cannot  forbear  giving  one  other  quotation  from  Herder — 
his  beautiful  interpretation  of  the  rainbow  in  his  ode,  "Der 
Regenbogen," 

Schones  kind  der  Sonne, 

Bunter  Regenbogen, 

Ueber  schwarzen  Wolken 

Mir  ein  Bild  der  Hoffnung. 


Hoffuungen  sind  Farben, 
Sind  gebrochner  Strahlen 
Und  der  Thranen  Kinder, 
Wahrheit  ist  die  Sonne. 


(I,  page  193-4.) 


In  Lenau  life  is  a  stream,  a  desert,  a  strand;  song  is  the 
zephyr  on  flowers;  winds  are  dying  sighs;  night  is  a  black 
eagle  with  fiery  wings. 

The  flight  of  fancy  is  evidently  extended  to  further  fields 
in  the  later  poets  than  it  is  in  the  earlier  singers. 

From  mere  simile  it  was  an  easy  step  to  personification,  a 
step  which  the  old  poets  were  not  slow  to  take.  We  find 
them  often  apostrophizing  May  or  Summer,  or  representing 
the  meadow  und  wood  as  donning  their  gala  dress;  but  there 
is  a  marked  sameness  in  their  personification,  both  of  subject 
and  of  manner. 

Walter  makes  the  meadow  blush  before  the  forest — 

wan  daz  ich  mich  rihte  nach  der  heide, 

diu  sich  schamt  ir  leide: 

so  si  den  wait  siht  gruon«i,  so  wirt  s'iemer  rot. 

(Page  41.) 

Nithart  represents  May  as  dressing  the  forest  with  new 
leaves, — 

Der  meie  der  ist  riche, 
er  fiieret  sicherliche 


74  THE    DKVELOPMKNT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

den  wait  an  siner  hende. 
der  ist  nu  niuwes  loubes  vol. 

(D.  Iv-,  page  104.) 

And  again,  the  forest  has  opened  his  treasure-house  to  Maj^: 

Der  wait  hat  sine  krame 
geiu  dera  meien  uf  geslagen; 

(M.  P.,  p.  99;  D.  L.,p-  106) 
and  elsewhere, 

Der  wait  hat  siner  grise  gar  vergezzen ; 
der  meie  ist  iif  ein  griienez  zwi  gesezzeu. 

(M.  P.,  p.  106.;  D.  L.,  p.  109.) 
Liutolt  von  Savene  personifies  May  and  the  wood  in  almost 
the  same  words,  adding,  however,  a  pretty  touch  in  the  vieing 
of  the  meadow  flowers, 

Wol  dir  meie  wie  du  scheidest 

allez  ane  haz! 

Wie  wol  du  die  boume  kleidest 

und  die  heide  baz  ! 

Diu  hat  varwe  me. 

du  bist  kurzer  ich  bin  langer' 

also  stritents  M  dem  anger, 

bluomen  unde  kle. 

(D.  L.,  page  128.) 

Kristan  von  Hamle  addresses  to  the  meadow  this  quite 
original  apostrophe,  in  which  he  attributes  to  it  human  sen- 
timent— 

Her  Anger,  waz  ir  froide  inch  muostet  nieten 

do  min  frowe  kom  gegan 

Und  ir  wizen  hende  begunde  bieten 

nach  iuwern  bluomen  wolgetan. 

(M.  P.,  p.  132;  D.  L.,  p.  137.) 

Ezzelingen  makes  the  wood  adorn  itself  and  put  on  its  gar- 
land, while  the  meadow  reflects  the  splendor, 

Walt  hat  sich  mit  kleiden  schdne  gegestet, 
er  hat  uf  gesetzet  maugen  stolzen  kranz 
Hi  wie  dem  diu  heide  widerglestet  ! 
diu  hat  an  geleit  ir  schoene  wunderswanz. 

(D.  Iv.,  page  236.) 

Beyond  this  very  limited  field  of  the  meadow  and  forest, 
spring  and  summer  and  flowers,  the  Minnesinger  does  not  seem 


IN    the;   GERMAN   I,YRIC  75 

to  have  ventured  in  his  personification  of  Nature;  he  does 
not  reach  even  to  the  limits  of  his  field  of  analogy;  does  not 
extend  his  figures  to  the  phenomena  of  the  sky.  We  do  not 
find  him  addressi-ng  odes  to  "the  cloud,"  "the  sunset,"  nor 
apostrophizing  the  sun,  moon  or  stars.  Personification  is  the 
first  step  in  the  contemplaticn  of  Nature  for  itself,  and  there- 
fore it  is  not  unnatural  that  this  element  should  find  a  very 
restricted  expression  in  the  early  period  of  the  literature. 

The  later  poets  often  touch  the  same  chord  in  their  per- 
sonifications, but  with  the  greater  depth  of  feeling  and 
breadth  of  application  in  their  figures  which  we  have 
everywhere  found  characteristic  of  their  nature-reference 
compared  with  that  of  the  early  poets. 

Schiller  refers  to  spring  under  the  beautiful  figure  of  a 
youth  bearing  a  basket  of  flowers — a  touch  so  fresh  that  it 
reminds  one  of  the  young  spring  of  Greek  mythology — 

Willkommen,  schoener  Jiingling  ! 
Du  Wonne  der  Natur  ! 
Mit  deinem  Blumenkorbchen 
Willkommen  auf  der  Flur  ! 

(I.  page  35.) 

And,  elsewhere,  changing  the  figure  to  that  of  a  maiden 
bearing  fruits  and  flowers,  a  modern  Proserpine,  he  says— 

In  einem  Thai  bei  einem  Hirten 
Erschien  mit  jedem  jungen  Jahr 
Sobald  die  ersten  Lerchen  schwirrten 
Ein  Madchen  schon  und  wunderbar. 

(I,  page  210) 

Especially  like  the  note  of  the  early  poets,  however,  are 
these  lines  from  Arndt's  "Friihliugslied" , 

Sei  Willkommen,  Friihling,  du  siisser  Gast 
Sei  Willkommen,  du  frohlicher  Mai  ! 
Der  die  Freude  briugt  und  die  Sorge  has.st. 

(Page  16.) 

The  same  simple  note  of  the  old  bards,  the  flower-bedecked 
spring,  is  heard  in  these  lines  from  his  ode  to  "Blumen", 

Die  seinen  Busen  zu  schmiicken 
Der  Lenz  sicli  machen  kann. 


76      THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  NATURE-SENSE 

Sie  sehn  mit  liebenden  Blicken 
Mich  jung  und  lustig  an. 

(Page  i8.) 

Compare  the  same  view  of  May,  as  seen  in  Platen's  lines, 

Enthiillt  sich  jahrlich  weit  und  weit 

Die  Maienzeit 

Mit  lust' gem  Vogelschalle. 

(Page  24.) 

Goethe's  ode  to  the  moon  is  in  quite  another  spirit  than 
that  which  appeared  in  the  early  poets — no  reference  here  to 
woman's  beauty;  the  cloud-veiled  mocn  is  a  veiled  woman, 

Schwester  von  dem  ersten  Licht 
Bild  der  Zartlichkeit  in  Trauer  ! 
Nebel  schwimmt  mit  Silberschauer 
Um  dein  reizendes  Gesicht. 

(I,  page  32.) 

A  far  more  extended  animation  of  the  natural  world  than 
we  have  thus  far  found,  occurs  in  the  deeper  moods  of  the 
modern  singers,  as  illustrated  below — a  growth  of  the  nature- 
sense  which  oversteps  all  the  conventional  past,  leaves  those 
phenomena  which  have  been  the  time-honored  stock  of  the 
bard,  goes  out  into  new  fields,  finds  in  a  rich  variety  of  new 
objects  a  likeness  to  the  new  life,  and  gives  to  literature  the 
manifold  fresh  figures  of  personification,  which  add  such 
delightful  flavor  to  the  new  running  of  the  wine-press  of 
poetic  thought. 

To  Herder  the  birch  tree  shedding  its  leaves  over  his  sis- 
ter's grave  is  a  mourner  weeping  at  the  tomb — 

Friihlingsbirke,  du  stehst  hier  iiber  dem  Grabe  der  Schwester 
Herbstlich  einsam,  und  streust  Blatter  und  Thranen  darauf. 

(I,  page  205.) 

Lenau  sees  the  moonlit  clouds  of  evening  as  a  company  of 
mourners  weaving  of  pale  roses  a  garland  for  the  dead  day: 

I^eichte  Abendwolkchen  schweben 
Hin  im  sanften  Mondenglanz, 
Und  aus  bleichen  Rosen  weben 
Sie  dem  toten  Tag  den  Kranz. 

(Page  57.) 


IN    THE   GERMAN   I^YRIC  77 

It  is  a  long  way  from  the  old  singer's  simple  tribute  to 
woman's  cheek  as  "sam  der  abentrot"  to  this  inspiration  of 
soul  into  the  evening  sky.  The  old  singer  had  scarcely  got- 
ten beyond  the  simile,  had  not  ventured  to  address  a  thought 
to  the  sunset  as  personified. 

An  even  broader  application  of  this  figure,  one  common  to 
our  literature  of  today,  is  where  he  speaks  of  Nature  as 
asleep,  while  the  veil  of  twilight  is  drawn  gently  over  her 
features, 

Friedlicher  Abend  senkt  sich  aufs  Gefilde; 
Sanft  entschlummert  Natur,  um  ihre  Ziige 
Schwebt  der  Dammerung  zarte  Verhiillung  und  sie 
L'achelt,  die  holde, 

(Page  97.) 

Goethe  addresses  the  brook  in  light,  laughing  lines,  whose 
very  movement  reflects  the  rippling  stream. 

Wo  willst  du  klares  Bachlein  hin 

So  munter  ? 
Du  eilst  mit  frohem  leichtem  Sinn 

Hinunter. 

(I,  page  127.) 

And  Korner,  in  equally  appropriate  measure,  addresses 
the  silent  stepping  of  the  morning  light  through  the  gates  of 
darkness, 

Siisses  lyicht  !     Aus  goldnen  Pforten 
Brichst  du  siegend  durch  die  Nacht. 
Schoner  Tag  !     Du  bist  erwacht. 

(Page  83.) 
Platen,  in  his  ode  to  the  Rhine,  addresses  it  as  a  friend, 

Lebe  wohl,  alter  Rhein,  wohl, 
Wie  oft  erquicktest  du  mich  ! 

(Page  8.) 
And  also  to  the  wind — 

Schwelle  die  Segel,  giinstiger  Wind  ! 

Trage  mein  Schiff  an  das  Ufer  der  Feme. 

(Page  12) 
while   Schiller,    with    more  stately    stepping   of  the   muse, 
gives  greeting  to  the  sun  and  the  light-crowned  mountain, 

Sei  mir  gegriisst,  mein  Berg   mit  dem   rotlich  strahlenden 
Gipfel, 


78  THS   DBVEI.OPMSNT   OF   THE   NATURB-SBNSB 

Sei  mir  Sonne  gegriisst  die  ihn  so  lieblich  bescheint. 

(I,  page  24.) 
Other  unusual  figures  are  "the  murderer  ocean,"  "the 
mountain  stretching  its  stone  arms  towards  the  clouds," 
"nature  distilling  wine  from  the  hills,"  "nature  walling  in 
the  land  with  Alps,"  "the  rainbow  the  child  of  the  sun," 
and  the  most  strikingly  original  perhaps  of  all,  the  beautiful 
lines  which  stand  at  the  close  of  Lenau's  "Himmelstrauer:" 

Nun  schleichen  aus  dem  Moore  kiihle  Schauer 
Und  leise  Nebel  iiber's  Heideland; 
Der  Himmel  Hess,  nachsinnend  seiner  Trauer, 
Die  Sonne  lassig  fallen  aus  der  Hand. 

(Page  79.) 

These  examples  serve  to  show  the  field,  as  broad  as  Nature 
herself,  where  the  imagination  and  the  discerning  eye  of  the 
19th  century  poets  moved  and  found  the  world  breathing 
with  a  life  like  their  own.  Or  did  they  merely  read  them- 
selves into  a  lifeless  world  ?  Just  here  it  matters  not  for  our 
purposes.  Suffice  it  that,  through  Nature,  their  thoughts 
and  sympathies  were  multiplied,  and  their  literature  en- 
riched. 


VIL-MAN^S  MOOD  REFLECTED  BY  NATURE, 

In  Wuudereiuklang  ist  das  L,eben 
Der  Menschenbrust  mit  der  Natur; 
Was  jener  als  Gefiihl  gegeben, 
Geht  hier  in  lichter  Farbenspur. 

(Korner,  page  170.) 

"Nature  always  wears  the  colors  of  the  spirit,"  says  Emer- 
son; and  elsewhere,  "The  greatest  delight  which  the  fields 
and  the  woods  minister  is  the  suggestion  of  an  occult  rela- 
tion between  man  and  the  vegetable.  I  am  not  alone  and 
unacknowledged.     They  nod  to  me,  and  I  to  them." 

The  next  step  in  the  orderly  development  of  the  nature- 
sense,  after  personification,  the  giving  of  life  to  the  outer 
world,  would  be  the  discovery  of  occasional  harmonies  be- 
tween the  life  in  man  and  the  life  in  Nature;  that  is,  a  sym- 
pathy springing  up  on  occasion  between  the  observer's  mood 
and  that  of  Nature.  Men  had  come  to  see  the  raging  storm, 
the  frovrning  precipice,  the  weeping  willow,  the  melancholy 
day,  the  smiling  sun,  the  laughing  meadow,  i)i&  blithe  hrodk. 
How  they  came  to  apply  these  personifying  epithets  to  these 
particular  phenomena  may  be  subject  to  discussion.  It 
involves  a  principle  which  in  its  operations  goes  back  to  the 
very  origins  of  language.  Professor  Max  Miiller,  in  his 
Science  of  Language  (Vol.  I,  p.  512),  cites  two  such 
authorities  as  Adam  Smith  and  I^eibnitz  as  holding  diamet- 
rically opposite  views  as  to  whether  in  the  early  period  of 
the  language  the  word  cave  represented  to  the  savage  mind 
first  the  abstract  idea  of  hollowtiess,  and  was  afterwards 
applied  to  the  individual  object  which  possessed  that  quality, 
or  vice  versa;  that  is,  whether  the  mind  moves  from  the 
generic  to  the  individual,  or  from  th&individical  to  the  ge/ieric. 
So  far  reaching  a  consideration  of  the  subject  as  that  is  be- 
yond the  scope  of  this  essay.  As  to  the  question  under  con- 
sideration, we  may  presume  that  the  earlier  writers  saw  in 
the  individual  storm  those  ideas  which  they  attributed  in  the 


8o  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

epithet  angry ^  melancholy,  laughing,  etc.,  applied  generally 
to  man.  This  application  of  qualities  to  the  phenomena  of 
Nature  we  have  treated  under  Personification.  It  is  scarcely 
more  than  an  individual  application  of  this  when  man,  in  any 
one  of  these  moods,  should  find  the  same  mood  reflected  to 
him  from  Nature;  when  in  high  spirits  he  should  see  glad- 
ness expressed  in  the  bright  morning;  or  in  gloominess, 
should  feel  that  the  dreary  day  was  but  in  sympathy  with 
him;  or  when  exhalted  with  pride,  should  see  the  same 
spirit  in  the  towering  rock,  and  name  it  "Stozenfels'';  or 
when  bent  under  the  burden  of  sorrow,  should  feel  a  kinship 
with  the  bending  willow,  and  plant  it  by  the  grave  of  the 
loved  one  in  perpetual  memory;  when  with  soul  wrought  up 
he  should  cry, 

"Brauset,  Winde  !  schaume,  Meer  ! 
Mir  im  Herzen  braust  es  mehr." 

Biese,  commenting  (p.  7)  upon  this  sentence  from  Vischer, 
"the  act  by  which  we  believe  to  find  in  the  soulless  our  own 
souUife  rests  simply  upon  a  comparison.  The  physical 
brightness  is  like  the  spiritual  brightness,"  etc.,  says,  "The 
rock  seems  to  rise  full  of  scorn  into  the  air,  we  think  and  feel 
ourselves  into  it  ...  .  and  so  it  not  only  appears  to  rise 
scornful  into  the  air,  but  does  so,  .  .  .  so  the  tree  stretches 
its  arms  longingly  towards  heaven  or  drops  them  in  melan- 
choly towards  the  earth;  the  rain  runs  with  heavy  weeping 
through  the  leaves;  tlie  mountain-world,  with  its  heaven- 
kissing  snows,  its  blinding  glaciers,  its  rushing  torrents,  is 
exalted  and  sublime,  free  and  proud,  etc.  But  the  outer 
Nature  would  not  become  the  symbol  of  the  heart,  if  there 
did  not  exist  an  inner  relation  between  the  human  heart 
within  and  the  physical  world  without,  if  there  did  not  meet 
us  and  speak  to  us  intelligently  a  pervading  spirit  in  all 
Nature."  It  is  this  "pervading  spirit"  in  man  and  Nature 
which  we  find  dominating  the  poetry  of  the  19th  century, 
of  which  Wordsworth  is  the  incarnation — a  spirit  which  was 
well-nigh  unknown  even  to  the  i8th  century  poets,  to  say 
nothing  of  those  of  the  13th. 

The  nature-sense  has  at  this  stage  developeti  into  a  direct 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  8 1 

sympathy  between  the  individual  man  and  the  individual 
phenomenon  of  Nature  which  stands  over  against  him.  It 
is  no  longer  vague  and  general;  but  has  become  clear  and 
specific.  Another  new  element  which  deserves  our  notice  in 
this  stage  is  that  it  depends  on  occasion.  Man  in  an  tmde- 
fined  state  of  mind  cannot  find  sympathy  in  a  vague  land- 
scape, nor  feel  any  sympathy  towards  it.  He  must  be  in 
some  definite  mood  and  before  some  specific  phenomenon.  No 
attitude  could  be  more  conducive  than  this  to  the  production 
of  lyric  poetry,  which  is  essentially  the  outpouring  of  a 
wrought-up  soul  towards  some  exterior  object.  This  is  the 
situation — a  world  of  human  hearts  in  touch  with  a  world  of 
sympathetic  Nature.  Does  not  this  alone  suffice  to  account 
for  an  epoch  of  lyric  poetry  unsurpassed,  perhaps  unequalled, 
in  the  world's  literature — an  epoch  which  includes  Goethe 
and  Schiller  and  Heine,  Burns  and  Shelley  and  Wordsworth, 
Longfellow  and  Lanier  and  Lowell,  and  Victor  Hugo  ? 

With  a  striking  consistency  we  find  that  as  the  nature- 
sense  in  its  development,  proceeding  from  step  to  step,  grows 
deeper  and  more  complex,  the  part  which  the  Minnesingers 
play  decreases  by  inverse  proportion  till  now,  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  this  individual  sympathy,  we  find  that  they  have, 
from  the  very  nature  of  the  subject,  well-nigh  passed  beyond 
our  consideration. 

In  the  succeeding  pages  we  shall  have  to  devote  our  atten- 
tention  most  largely  to  the  modern  period,  these  later  phases 
of  the  nature-sense  appearing  but  faintly  in  the  early  lyrists. 
When  men  could  say  with  Goethe,  in  "Werther"  (VI,  p.  7), 
— to  translate — "when  I  lie  in  the  tall  grass  by  the  babbling 
brook,  and  see  nearer  to  the  earth  a  thousand  manifold  little 
sprigs  of  grass;  when  I  feel  nearer  to  my  heart  the  swarms 
of  the  little  world  among  the  reeds;  the  countless  forms  of 
worms  and  gnats,  and  feel  the  presence  of  the  Almighty  who 
created  us  in  his  own  image — when  then  in  the  gloaming 
the  world  round  about  me  and  the  sky  rests  in  my  soul  like 
the  form  of  my  beloved" — .  When  men  could  speak  thus 
of  the  world  round  about  them,  they  had  made  a  great  stride 
beyond  the  Minnesinger  and  his  distant  attitude  towards  the 


82  THB   DEVBI,OPMENT   OF   THK   NATURE-SENSE 

world  about  him.  However,  we  may  find  already  here  and 
there  in  the  earlier  bards  the  first  begimiings  of  sympathy 
between  man  and  Nature  on  occasion.  Dietmar,  speaking  of 
the  effect  which  winter  has  upon  him,  says — 

sit  ich  bluomen  niht  ensach 
noch  erhdrte  der  vogel  sane, 
sit  was  mir  min  froide  kurz 
und  ouch  der  jamer  alze  lane. 

(M.  F.,  page  34.) 

And  Reinmar,  speaking  of  the  coming  of  "May,  says: 

kilme  ich  des  erbeiten  mac. 
sit  ich  froude  niht  enpflac 
sit  der  kalte  rife  lac. 

(M.  F.,  page  203.) 

It  must  be  noted  of  these  examples,  however,  that  they  do 
not  contain  that  clear,  distinct  sympathy  between  man  and 
some  particular  phenomenon  of  Nature  at  some  particular 
time,  which  we  find  in  the  later  poets,  but  are  the  vague 
influence  of  a  season.  The  old  lyrist  had  not  drawn  near 
enough  to  Nature  for  her  utterances  to  be  very  distinct  in  his 
poetic  ear. 

Goethe's  nature-creed — and  in  large  measure  the  creed  of 
the  later  epoch— is  couched  in  these  lines  of  Faust, 

Erhabner  Geist,  du  gabst  mir,  gabst  mir  alles, 

Warum  ich  bat-      .... 

Gabst  mir  die  herrliche  Natur  zum  Konigreich 

Kraft,  sie  zu  fiihlen,  zu  geniessen.     Nicht 

Kalt  stauenden  Besuch  erlaubst  du  nur, 

Vergonnest  mir  in  ihre  tiefe  Brust 

Wie  in  den  Busen  eines  Freundes  zu  schauen. 

Du  fiihrst  die  Reihe  der  I^ebendigen 

Vor  mir  vorbei,  und  lehrst  mich  meine  Briider 

Im  stillen  Busch,  in  lyuft  und  Wasser  kennen. 

(Ill,  page  143.) 

The  last  lines  contain  the  strongest  expression  of  sym- 
pathy— not  only  birds  and  animals,  sentient  things,  are  akin 
to  him;  but  even  the  bush  and  air  and  water  are  his  brethren 
in  the  cosmic  family. 

For  such  a  man  there  is,  therefore,  no  strainedness,  nor 


IN   THE  GERMAN   LYRIC  83 

affectation,  when  he  attributes  even  the  deepest  feelings  of 
man  to  the  inanimate  world.  When,  for  instance,  on  the 
occasion  of  his  wife's  death,  he  addresses  the  sun  vainly- 
striving  to  shine  through  the  clouds, 

Du  versuchst,  o'  Sonne  vergebens 
Durch  die  diistern  Wolken  zu  scheinen  ! 
Der  ganze  Gewinn  meines  Lebens 
1st,  ihren  Verlust  zu  beweinen, 

(I,  page  686) 

we  feel  that  he  is  speaking  in  all  the  sincerity  of  his  grief. 

I^iterature  scarce  affords  a  more  exquisite  lyric  gem  than 
his  "Wanderers  Nachtlied," 

Ueber  alien  Gipfeln 

1st  Ruh, 

In  alien  Wipfeln 

Spiirest  du 

Kaum  einen  Hauch; 

Die  Vogelein  schweigen  in  Walde. 

Warte  nur.  balde 

Ruhest  du  auch. 

(I,  page  66.) 

Here  the  poet  is  one  with  the  landscape.  The  calm  and 
peace  and  hush  of  the  evening  are  over  all.  They  are  the 
very  atmosphere.  Life's  striving  ended,  desire  stilled,  sub- 
missive waiting — the  hush  of  eventide.  Such  the  soul,  and 
such  the  setting.     A  perfect  harmony. 

Heine,  in  his  "Der  Traurige,"  gives  a  fine  example  of  the 
sympathetic  response  of  Nature  to  the  mood  of  man, 

Aus  dem  wilden  Larm  der  Stadter 
Fliichtet  er  sich  nach  dem  Wald. 
lyustig  rauschen  dort  die  Blatter, 
Lust'ger  Vogelsang  erschallt. 

Doch  der  sang  verstummet  balde 
Traurig  rauschet  Baum  und  Blatt, 
Wenn  der  Traurige  dem  Walde 
Langsam  sich  genahert  hat. 

(I,  page  35.) 

This  is  an  unusually  strong  example.  Here  the  mood  of 
the  man  drives  away  the  joyousness  of  the  wood,  till  his  sor- 


84  THE   DBVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

row  comes  to  pervade  the  whole  scene.  Usually  man  simply 
finds  Nature  in  sympathy  with  him.  Here  the  attuning 
takes  place  before  his  eyes. 

The  reverse  of  this  response  from  the  side  of  Nature  is 
given  in  another  of  his  poems,  where  he  makes  two  happy 
lovers  gradually  succumb  to  the  influence  of  their  surround- 
ings, till  at  last  they  are  silent  and  fall  to  weeping,  they  know 
not  why.  A  kind  of  telepathy,  as  it  were,  by  which  one 
mind  is  brought  into  accord  with  another; 

Auf  einem  Grab,  da  steht  eine  lyinde, 
Drin  pfeifen  die  Vogel  und  Abendwinde, 
Und  drunter  sitzt  auf  dem  griinen  Platz 
Der  Mtillersknecht  mit  seinem  Schatz. 

Die  Winde  die  wehen  so  lind  und  so  schaurig 
Die  Vogel  die  singen  so  siiss  und  so  traurig. 
Die  schwatzenden  Buhlen,  die  werden  stumm 
Sie  weinen  und  wissen  selbst  nicht  warum. 

(I,  page  264.) 

Another  example  of  this  silent  compelling  of  man  from  the 
side  of  Nature  is  given  in  Herders  "Andenken  an  Neapel," 
where,  watching  the  evening  glow  fade  away  in  the  still 
sea,  he  is  overcome  to  tears  with  yearning  which  the  passing 
of  this  beauty  breathes  into  his  soul, 

Wenn  die  Abendrot'  im  stillen  Meere 
Sanft  verschwebte,  und  mit  seinem  Heere 
Glanzender  der  Mond  zum  Himmel  stieg, 
Ach  !  da  fiossen  mit  so  neuem  Sehnen 
Unschuldvolle,   jugendliche  Thranen, 
Nur  ein  Seufzer  sprach,  und  alles  schwieg. 

(I,  page  257.) 

I,enau,  with  fine  poetic  touch,  takes  us  with  him  on  his 
walk  into  the  "winter  night,"  till  we  can  see  the  ghostly  fir 
trees  bending  under  their  burden  of  snow,  and  feel  the 
oppressive  cold  which  compels  the  I,andscape  to  silence, 

Wie  feierlich  die  Gegend  schweigt  ! 
Der  Mond  bescheint  die  alten  Fichten, 
Die  sehnsuchtsvoU  zum  Tod  geneigt. 
Den  Zweig  zuriick  zur  Erde  richten — 

(Page  46) 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  85 

and  the  feverish  heart  finds  a  voice  in  the  poet's  following 
appeal, 

Frost  !  friere  mir  ins  Herz  hinein, 

Tief  in  das  heissbewegte,  wilde  ! 

Dass  einmal  Ruh  mag  drinnen  sein, 

Wie  hier  im  nachtlichen  Gefilde. 

In  "Friihliug's  Tod"  he  presents  to  us  another  phase  of 
Nature's  sympathy.  It  is  not  a  sympathy  from  Nature  to 
man:  rather  man  and  Nature,  standing  side  by  side,  pour  out 
their  common  sympathy  over  the  death  of  spring — 

Warum,  o  Liifte,  fliistert  ihr  so  bang? 
Durch  alle  Haine  weht  die  Trauerkunde, 
Und  storrisch  klagt  der  triiben  Welle  Gang: 
Das  ist  des  holden  Friihlings  Todesstunde. 

(Page  67.) 

L,enau,  too,  has  felt  that  mystery  mentioned  by  Heine 
above,  that  spirit  of  sadness  which  creeps  unannounced  into 
the  heart,  coming  from  nowhere;  so  unaccountable  that  in 
the  midst  of  a  pleasant  scene,  suddenly  the  tears  well  up  into 
the  eyes — 

Wie  mich  oft  in  griiuen  Hainen 
tjberrascht  ein  dunkles  Weh, 
Muss  ich  nun  auch  plotzlich  weinen, 
Weiss  nicht  wie  ? — hier  auf  der  See. 

(Page  130.) 

In  the  second  stanza  he  suggests  an  explanation: 

Tragt  Natur  auf  alien  Wegen 
Einen  grossen,  ewgen  Schmerz, 
Den  sie  mir  als  Muttersegen 
Heimlich  stromet  in  das  Herz  ? 

The  brooding  sadness  which  steals  into  his  heart  unawares 
is,  then,  the  voice  of  the  mother  whispering  into  his  secret 
heart  of  the  "eternal  suffering"  which  she  bears. 

Korner,  watching  the  red  morning  of  the  day  of  battle, 
reads  his  own  feeling  into  the  sky,  and  "the  sanguine  sun- 
rise' '  becomes  prophetic  of  the  bloody  battle  that  is  to  come — 

Ahuungsgrauend,  todesmutig, 
Bricht  der  grosse  Morgen  an 


86  THE   DEVKLOPMKNT   OF  THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Und  die  Sonne  kalt  und  blutig 
I^euchtet  iinsrer  blut'gen  Balm. 

(Page  27.) 

A  frequent  turn  of  this  phase  of  the  sense  is  to  represent 
Nature  in  contrast  with  man's  mood— which  is  the  obverse 
of  the  same  element.  For  instance,  Heine  complains  of  the 
gladness  of  the  world  when  he  is  sad — 

Die  Welt  ist  so  schon  und  der  Himmel  so  blau, 
Und  de  Liifte,  die  wehen  so  lind  und  so  lau, 
Und  die  Blumen  winken  auf  bliihender  Au, 
Und  funkeln  und  glitzern  im  Morgentau, 
Und  die  Menschen  jubeln,  wohin  ich  shau' — 
Und  doch  mocht'  ich  im  Grabe  liegen, 
Und  mich  an  ein  todes  Madchen  schmiegen. 

(I,  page  77.) 

And  Arndt,  in  "Friihling  undLiebe,"  furnishes  a  picture 
of  contrast,  where  the  joyousness  of  Nature  is  opposed  to 
the  sorrow  of  the  singer — 

Gott  griiss'  euch  Bliimchen  fromm  und  schon 

Euch  Voglein  hold  und  feine  ! 

Ich  muss  im  Friihling  einsam  gehn, 

Muss  traurig  sehn 

Die  griine  Lust  der  Haine. 

(Page  68.) 

Similar  examples  of  contrast  between  Nature  and  man's 
mood  are  found,  too,  in  some  of  the  old  singers;  for  instance, 
Reinmar  says, 

jo  enmac  mir  niht  der  bluomen  schin 
gehelfen  fiir  die  sorge  min, 
und  och  "der  vogelline  sane, 
ez  muoz  mir  staete  winter  sin: 
so  rehte  swaer  ist  min  gedanc. 

(M.  F.,  pages  188-9.) 

And  Kuonrat,  der  junge,  strikes  tli^  same  note, — 

Waz  hilfet  mich  diu  sumerzit 
und  die  vil  liehten  langen  tage  ? 
Min  tr6st  an  einer  frowen  lit 
von  der  ich  grozen  kumber  trage. 

(D.  L.,  page  220.) 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  87 

On  the  other  hand,  Anehalt,  speaking  of  winter,  says, 

Ichn  wart  uoch  nie  so  von  sime  getwange 
daz  ich  durch  in  lieze  die  niin  vroude  sin. 
Des  danke  ich  doch  der  vil  lieben  frowen  min. 

(D.  L.,  page  125.) 
Kuonrat,  der  Schenke,  says,  in  like  manner  of  winter, 

Swie  der  winter  uns  wil  twingen, 
doch  wil  ich  der  lieben  singen. 

(D.  L,.,  page  232.) 

Beyond  these  simple,  general  contrasts  between  the  seasons 
and  his  mood,  and  the  dimly  reflected  mood  which,  to  be 
sure,  may  be  found  in  all  his  allusions  to  spring  and  gladness, 
winter  and  sorrow — beyond  these  there  seems  to  be  no  affin- 
ity between  man's  mood  and  Nature  in  the  Minnesingers. 

Iviining  in  his  treatment  of  Nature  in  the  old  and  middle 
German  Epic,  cites  from  "Parzival"  a  more  striking  exam- 
ple of  reflected  mood,  which  is  given  here  by  the  way,  "elliu 
griiene  in  duhte  val,  sin  herze  d'ougen  des  betwanc." 
(Parz.  IV  8);  i.  e.  his  heart  compelled  his  eyes  to  see  as  the 
heart  was,  and  the  green  seemed  faded. 

The  attitude  of  man  towards  the  outer  world  is  changed 
now.  It  is  no  longer  an  admiration  of  her  beauties,  a  simple 
enjoyment  of  her  ravishing  forms  and  colors,  a  delight  in 
the  music  of  her  voices,  an  awe  in  the  presence  of  her  sub- 
limities. It  passes  now  beyond  a  mere  aesthetic  apprecia- 
tion,— beyond  mere  ecstasy  over  pictures,  beyond  rapture 
before  some  entrancing  scene.  It  ceases  to  be  a  thrill  as 
when  some  electric  shock  is  felt.  It  is  now  the  warm,  con- 
tinuous heart  to  heart  communion,  such  as  exists  between 
two  individuals  in  whom  there  is  a  mutual  understanding. 
It  is  not  such  a  knowledge  as  comes  from  cold  investigation, 
for  "Never  can  any  advantage  be  taken  of  nature  by  a 
trick."  Faust  tried  in  vain  by  incantations  to  catch  the 
secret  of  the  old  Erdgeist.  The  spirit  departed  with  these 
ominous  words:  "Du  gleichst  dem  Geist  den  du  begreifst,nicht 
mir."  But  afterwards  when  Faust,  alone  in  the  forest,  flung 
himself  upon  the  bosom  of  Nature,  he  had  come  to  know 
more: — 


88  THE   DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  NATURE-SENSE 

Du  hast  mir  nicht  umsonst 

Dein  Angesicht  im  Feuer  zugewendet. 


Vergonnest  mir  in  ihre  tiefe  Brust 

Wie  in  den  Busen  eines  Freilnds  zu  schauen. 

It  is  friend  with  friend;  "man  imprisoned,  man  crystal- 
h'zed,  man  vegetative  speaks  to  man,"  says  the  poet-seer. 
Such  is,  in  a  measure,  the  later  development  of  the  nature- 
sense.  Its  fundamental  element,  a  spirtual  understanding 
rather  than  an  intellectual  insight.  I,enau  expresses  this 
essential  in  these  lines: — 

Willst  du  im  Walde  weilen, 
Um  deine  Brust  zu  heilen. 
So  muss  dein  Herz  verstehen 
Die  Stimmen  die  dort  wehen. 

(Page  296.) 

The  more  men  felt  the  responsiveness  of  Nature  to  them- 
selves, the  more  they  were  impelled  towards  Nature.  Thus 
far  we  have  found  scarcely  more  than  a  passive  responsive- 
ness. This  rapidly  develops  into  an  active  seeking  of  Na- 
ture by  man.  We  find  him  yearning  for  the  solace  of  Na- 
ture, fleeing  to  her,  seeking  a  sympathy  in  joy  or  sorrow. 
Rousseau  fled  away  from  the  distracting  society  of  his  fel- 
lows to  calm  his  heart  in  the  soothing  lap  of  Nature.  One 
of  our  own  poets  indicates  this  potency  of  Nature  upon  him- 
self: "I  fled  in  tears  to  the  woodland  and  laid  me  down  on 
the  earth.  There  somewhat  like  the  beating  of  many  hearts 
came  up  to  me  out  of  the  ground,  and  I  looked  and  my  cheek 
lay  close  to  a  violet.  Then  my  heart  took  courage." — (L,a- 
nier.) 

Among  the  old  poets  we  find  the  very  scantiest  evidence  of 
any  tendency  to  seek  Nature  for  inward  benefit,  whether  of 
encouragement  or  solace  or  instruction.  Liutolt  von  Savene 
speaks  of  the  joy  which  bird-song  brings — 

Wol  in  den  der  kleineu  vogele  singen 

troestet  und  der  bluomen  schin  ! 

Wie  mac  dem  an  vrouden  misselingen  ? 

(D.  L.,  page  127.) 


IN    THE    GKKMAN    I^YKIC  89 

Aud  Toggeiiburc  more  explicitly  urges  those  who  would 
find  joy  to  turn  to  "the  green  linden," 

Hat  ie  man  ze  froiden  muot, 

der  sol  keren  ze  der  griienen  linden: 

Ir  wol  bliienden  sumerbluot 

mac  man  da  bi  loubeschateu  vinden. 

(D.  Iv.,  page  199.) 

The  last  couplet  strongly  suggests  that  the  joy  which  he 
finds  in  the  linden  is  no  higher  delight  than  that  which  we 
have  found  elsewhere  in  the  Minnesinger's  writings — a  joy 
based  on  physical  comfort  under  the  shade  of  the  trees. 
These  two  selections  represent  the  whole  range  of  the  early 
poet's  longing  towards  Nature  as  comforter. 

Compare  this  with  Goethe's  address  to  a  similar  phenome- 
non of  Nature — 

Anmutig  Thai  !  du  immergriiner  Hain  ! 
Mein  Herz  begriisst  euch  wieder  auf  das  Beste 
Bntfaltet  mir  die  schwerbehangnen  Aste, 
Nehmt  freundlich  mich  in  cure  Schatten  ein, 
Erquickt  von  euern  Hohn  am  Tag  der  I^ieb  und  L,ust 
Mit  frischer  L,uft  und  Balsam  meine  Brust  ! 

(I,  page  421) 

This  flight  from  humanity  to  Nature  is  one  of  the  domi- 
nant elements  in  the  latter  lyric,  manifesting  itself  in  all  the 
varying  moods  of  the  mind  from  the  most  unrestrained  light- 
heartedness  to  the  deepest  emotions  of  awe  and  sorrow. 
Goethe's  overflow  of  youthful  spirits  is  clearly  seen  in  these 
lines  taken  from  his  earliest  productions — 

Durcli  Feld  und  Wald  ze  schweifen, 
Mein  lyiedchen  wegzupfeifen, 
So  gehts  von  Ort  zu  Ort. 


Ich  kann  sie  kaum  erwarten, 
Die  erste  Blum  im  Garten, 
Die  erste  Bliit  am  Baum. 

(I,  page  15.) 

The  same  exuberant  spirit  flows  through  many  of  Korner's 
poems,  an  irresistible  charm  of  the  wide,  wide  world,  which 
made  him  forsake  everything  and  rush  out  into  the  free  air 


90  THK   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

under  the  broad  sky;  a  spirit  that  could  not  endure  the  op- 
pressive house; 

Schweigend  liegt  die  Friedensnacht 

Auf  dem  stillen  Thale, 

Und  es  bleicht  der  Sterne  Pracht 

In  des  Mondes  Strahle. 

Wie  die  dunkleu  Schatten  dort 

Sinn  und  Herz  ergreifen  ! 

Aus  dem  Zimmer  muss  ich  fort, 

Muss  den  Wald  durchstreifen. 

(Page  159.) 

Heine,  too,  loved  to  lose  himself  in  the  broad  freedom  of 
virgin  Nature: 

Durch  die  Tannen  will  ich  schweifen, 
Wo  die  muntre  Quelle  springt 
Wo  die  stolzen  Hirsclie  wandeln. 
Wo  die  Hebe  Drossel  singt 
Auf  die  Berge  will  ich  steigen, 
Auf  die  schroffen  Felsenhohn, 
Wo  die  grauen  Schlossruinen 
In  dem  Morgenlichte  stehn. 

(II  Page  69.) 

This  is  a  representative  example  of  one  phase  of  the  mod- 
ern movement  in  the  nature-sense— an  illustration  of  the  gen- 
tler side  of  the  sense.  Before  Heine  it  had  found  a  voice  not 
only  in  the  lyric  but  also  in  prose.  It  is  the  spirit  of  "Wer- 
ther"  of  "Wilhelm  Meister,"  of  "Paul  and  Virginia."  It  is 
the  basis  of  the  romantic  novel, — this  setting  of  human  life 
into  natural  scenery.  Not  only  is  there  an  attraction  towards 
the  gentler  aspects  of  Nature,  but  a  real  charm  in  the  sterner 
features.  That  mood  in  which  a  man  finds  delight  in  climb- 
ing the  wild  mountains  of  a  stormy  night  is  something  dif- 
ferent from  the  mood  which  enables  him  to  be  soothed  by 
the  gentle  murmuring  of  a  brook  beneath  green  boughs.  In 
Chamisso  we  read  these  notable  lines: 

Ich  hab'  in  den  Kliiften  des  Berges  gehaust 
Gar  manche  schaurige  Nacht, 
Und,  wann  in  den  Fohren  der  Sturm  gesaust, 
Recht  wild  in  den  Sturm  gelacht. 


IN    THE    GERMAN    LYRIC  91 

Da,  wo  die  Spur  sich  des  Menscheu  verlor, 
Ward's  erst  niir  im  Busen  leicht; 
Ich  bin  geklommen  aiif  Gipfel  empor, 
Die  sonst  nur  der  Adler  erreicht. 

(Page  21.) 

But  the  lyric  of  the  modern  singer  has  its  softer  notes  as 
well  as  its  deep  bass,  and  often  while  we  are  listening  to  the 
vibrations  of  these  chords  suddenly  the  lyrist  touches  the 
minor  chords  into  music.  Such  a  singer  is  Chamisso,  when 
he  turns  from  the  music  of  the  mountain  storm  to  the  melo- 
dy of  the  azure  sky, 

Heiter  blick'  ich,  ohne  Rene 

In  des  Himmels  reine  Blaue, 

Zu  der  Sterne  lichtem  Gold, 

1st  der  Himmel,  ist  die  Freundschaft, 

1st  die  Iviebe  mir  doch  hold. 

Laure,  mein  Schicksal,  laure! 

(Page  52.) 

The  later  poets  show  not  only  a  recognition  and  apprecia- 
tion of  the  sublime  in  Nature  as  already  indicated, — in 
mountains  and  storms — not  only  a  distant  admiration,  but  a 
longing  to  lose  themselves  in  the  great  hills;  to  throw  them- 
selves into  the  storm,  to  press  it  to  their  bosom,  as  it  were, 
to  be  rapt  away  by  the  mighty  wind  for  love  of  its  moving 
spirit.  So  Riickert  in  "An  den  Sturmwind"  appeals  to  the 
storm : 

Machtiger  der  du  die  Wipfel  dir  beugst 
Brausend  von  Krone  ?Ai  Krone  entsteigst 
Wandle  du  sliirmender,  wandie  nur  fort, 
Reiss'  mir  den  stiirmenden  Busen  mit  fort. 
Wie  das  Gewolke,  das  donnernd  entfliegt, 
Dir  auf  der  brausenden  Schwinge  sich  wiegt, 
Fiihre  den  Geist  aus  dem  irdischen  Haus 
In  die  Unendlichkeit  stiirmend  hinaus. 

(Page  9.) 

The  first  lines  of  Korner's  ode,  "Beim  Gewitter."  furnish 
a  fine  example  of  the  reponsiveness  of  the  poet  to  the  storm; 
his  bosom  heaves,  his  heart  swells,  his  whole  nature  is 
wrought  up,  as  the  lightnings  play  and  the  thunders  roll 
with  majesty  across  the  stormy  sky,   till  he  would  fain  rush 


92  THE    DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

out  from  his  narrow  "cell"  to  where  the  might  of  the  storm 
finds  play: 

Der  Donner  rollt  in  wilden  Regenschauern, 

Die  Blitze  leuchten  majestatisch  drein. 

Mich  treibt  die  Sehnsucht  aiis  den  dumpfen  Mauern : 

Wie  gross  ist's  dort  in  Blitz  und  Regenschauern 

Wie  in  der  engen  Zelle  hier  so  klein! 

(Page  238.) 

Heine  finds  that  the  climbing  of  the  mountains  has  an  en- 
nobling influence,  despite  the  labor  of  the  ascent.  The 
largeness  and  freedom  of  the  surroundings  seems  to  enter 
into  the  observer,  till  he  feels  himself  newborn,  and  free 
like  the  eagle: — 

Wenn  du  den  steilen  Berg  ersteigst 
Wirst  du  betrachtlich  achzen: 
Doch  wenn  du  den  felsigen  Gipfel  erreichst, 
Horst  du  die  Adler  Krachzen. 

Dort  wirst  du  selbst  ein  Adler  fast, 
Du  bist  wie  neu  geboren, 
Du  fiihlst  dich  frei,  du  fiihlst  du  hast 
Dort  unten  nicht  viel  verloren. 

(I,  page  294.) 

This  seems  to  be  the  reverse  of  the  more  usual  reading  of 
self  into  Nature.  Here  it  is  the  appropriation  of  Nature  to 
self.  In  the  presence  of  the  great  he  becomes  for  the  mo- 
ment great.  '  On  the  mountain-top  he  feels  himself  trans- 
formed into  an  eagle.  This  transfer  of  qualities  has  long 
been  known  in  some  of  its  manifestations.  A  rider  seeing 
and  feeling  the  motions  of  his  horse  feels  the  transfer  of  all 
the  horse's  energy  to  himself,  feels  powerful  like  his  steed. 
But  this  transfer  depends  upon  a  recognition  of  these  qual- 
ities in  the  circumstances.  The  engineer  with  his  hand  on 
the  throttle  feels  the  power  of  his  engine  pass  to  him;  the 
passenger  looking  from  the  window  feels  no  thrill.  The  old 
poets  were  in  the  presence  of  as  sublime  aspects  of  Nature 
as  those  which  the  moderns  saw,  but  they  felt  no  thrill  of 
transferred  qualities,  because  they  did  not  see  them  first  in 
Nature. 

But  L,enau  can  sing, 


IN    the;   GERMAN    LYRIC  93 

Des  Berges  Gipfel  war  erscliwmigeli, 
Der  trotzig  in  die  Tiefe  schaut; 
Natur,  von  deinem  Reiz  durchdrungen, 
Wie  selling  mein  Herz  so  frei,  so  laut!, 

(Page  103.) 

Although  the  contribution  which  Nature  had  thus  far 
made  to  men  was  very  great;  although  it  was  a  spiritual  in- 
fluence, rather  than  an  intellectual  quickening,  (which  later 
came  in  the  advance  of  natural  science) ,  still  our  poets  of 
this  later  period  had  not  found  in  Nature  that  which  Cowper 
saw  vaguely,  and  Wordsworth  clearly.  Palgrave  after  quo- 
ting these  lines  from  Wordsworth, 

The  Being,  that  is  in  the  clouds  and  air. 
That  is  in  the  green  leaves  among  the  groves, 
Maintains  a  deep  and  reverential  care 
For  the  unoffending  creatures  whom  he  loves, 

says,  "But  this  peculiar  sentiment  seems  to  have  been  un- 
known to  mediaeval  feelmg  about  Nature." 

But  rarely  do  we  hear  even  from  these  modern  poets  a 
word  of  the  moral  contribution  which  Nature  makes.  They 
did  not  feel  with  Emerson,  that  "the  happiest  man  is  he  who 
learns  from  Nature  the  lesson *of  worship."  Klopstock,  who 
is  the  spirtual  brother  of  the  hymnist  Cowper,  finds  in  Na- 
ture more  moral  teaching  than  does  any  other  poet  of  the 
group;  indeed  this  is  his  chief  use  of  Nature,  to  praise  the 
wisdom  and  majesty  of  the  Creator.  Again  and  again  he 
makes  Nature  testify  to  the  existence  of  the  Invisible. 

Take  these  lines  from  "Friihlingfeier:" 

Nun  schweben  sie,  rauschen  sie,   wirbeln  die  Winde. 
Wie  beugt  sich  der  Wald,  wie  hebt  sich  der  Strom! 
Sichtbar,  wie  du  es  Sterblichen  sein  kannst, 
Ja,  Das  bist  du,  sichtbar,  Unendlicher! 

Der  Wald  neigt  sich  der  Strom  fiiehet,  und  ich 
Falle.nicht  auf  mein  Angesicht? 
Herr,  Herr,  Gott,  barmherzig  und  gnadig! 
Du  Naher,  erbarme  dich  meiner! 

(Page  119.) 

Compare  this  with  the  storm  song  of  the  Hebrew  lyrist  in 
the  29th  Psalm; 


94  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

The  voice  of  the  Lord  is  full  of  majest3^ 

The  voice  of  the  lyord  breaketh  the  cedars; 

Yea,  the  Lord  breaketh  in  pieces  the  cedars  of  Lebanon. 

The  Lord  sat  as  king  at  the  flood; 
Yea,  the  Lord  sitteth  as  king  forever. 
The  Lord  will  give  strength  unto  his  people; 
The  Lord  will  bless  his  people  with  peace. 

There  is  between  these  two  lyrics  a  striking  resemblance, 
both  in  substance  and  in  form.  They  both  refer  to  the  storm, 
one  as  the  voice,  the  other  as  the  manifestation  of  the  Crea- 
tor. In  both  the  retreat  of  the  .storm  is  heard,  and  the  mercy 
of  the  Creator  acknowledged.  Both  end,  as  it  were,  with 
peace — the  bow  after  the  tempest. 

This  is  not  a  common  element  in  the  German  lyric,  however. 
Even  to  the  pastor  Herder  Nature  is  but  dimly  moral  in  its 
teachings,  his  use  of  it  being  not  different  from  that  of  the 
other  poets.  These  lines  from  Lenau's  "Waldlieder," 
which  strongly  suggest  those  quoted  above,  and  at  the  last 
lead  us  to  anticipate  a  like  ending,  fail  to  bring  in  a  moral 
reference; 

Der  Donner  bricht  herein 

PvS  kracht  die  Welt  in  Wettern, 

Als  wollt  am  Felsgestein 

Der  Himmel  sich  zerschmetteru. 

Doch  mir  im  Herzensgrund 
1st  Heiterkeit  und  Stille; 
Mir  wachst  in  solcher  Stuud' 
Und  hartet  sich  der  Wille. 

(Page  295.) 

The  peace  of  the  conclusion  is  not  here  that  of  trust,  but 
that  of  the  unll. 


VIII— NATURE  AS  BACKGROUND. 

"It  is  a  psjxhological  fact,"  says  Iviining  (p.  278),  "that 
the  spirit  when  aroused  seeks  by  unconscious  inclinations  to 
bring  itself  into  accord  with  the  surrounding  Nature,  that  is,  is 
accustomed  to  seek  out  that  surrounding  which  harmonizes 
with  i:s  mood."  The  writer  can  scarcely  mean  that  this 
psychological  fact  is  universal  and  true  of  all  times,  for  in 
order  to  seek  a  harmonious  and  natural  surrounding  there  is 
necessary  the  pre-recognition  of  expression  in  Nature,  of 
different  moods  in  different  phases;  a  recognition  of  that  in 
Nature  which  is  in  harmony  with  that  in  self;  and  the  ability 
thus  to  see  moods  in  Nature  has  not  existed  at  all  t'mes  in 
men.  To  put  it  differently  men  have  not  always  conceded  a 
personality  to  the  inanimate  world.  Granted  this  concession 
on  the  part  of  man,  however,  we  may  expect  him  to  seek  in 
Nature  that  surrounding  which  is  in  accord  with  his  mood. 
In  proportion  as  men  recognize  this  personal  element  in  Na- 
ture will  they  seek  it,  and  in  proportion  as  they  seek  it  will 
they  come  to  use  it  in  the  art  of  expression,  whether  of  pen 
or  paint,  to  heighten  and  set  off  that  element  of  human  life 
which,  at  the  time,  they  are  seeking  to  present.  It  may  not 
be  a  conscious  art,  but  it  must  07ice  have  been  so.  The  "un- 
conscious inclination"  springs  from  conscious  effort.  Shake- 
spere's  use  of  Nature  in  Macbeth  is  so  natural  that  we  can- 
not think  of  it  as  conscious  art,  but  the  poet  must  long  have 
studied  the  expression  in  Nature's  various  phenomena. 

The  use  of  Nature  as  background  in  literature  can  scarcely 
precede  a  recognion  of  affinity  betwen  man  and  Nature.  It 
is  subsequent  in  genesis,  though  it  may  be  contemporary  in 
use. 

Commentators  upon  the  early  Epic  seem  not  to  be  quite 
agreed  as  to  the  strength  of  the  nature-sense  in  the  German 
Epic;  which  disagreement  can  perhaps  be  explained  by  exam- 
ination into  the  influences  operating  on  the  literature  at  dif- 
ferent periods.     Biese  says,    (p.    99),    "there  is  scarcely  in 


96  THE   DBVELOPMKNT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

world-literature  an  Epic  so  poor  in  painting  of  time  and 
place  as  the  'Nibelungenlied' — Elementary  nature  plays  no 
role  not  even  as  frame — the  portraying  of  the  time  (of  day) 
is  as  insipid  as  possible — Even  the  picturing  of  places  is 
not  more  individual. — Even  the  description  of  the  hunt  and 
Siegfried's  murder  is  sober  and  wanting  with  reference  to 
landscape. — No  trace  of  any  sympathetic" Naturanschauung," 
which  lends  to  flowers,  trees  and  mountain  a  sensitive,  sym- 
pathetic heart — as  even  the  old  Norse  Sage  does  so  touchingly 
at  Balder's  death!"  Eiining  says,  (p.  276),  "That  poet  will 
have  to  reckon  upon  the  greatest  effect  who  keenly  feels  this 
secret  connection  between  place  and  action,  who  knows  how 
to  catch  that  hidden  soul  of  a  certain  landscape,  and  bring  it 
into  concert  with  his  action,  in  short  knows  how  to  find  the 
right  stage  for  his  play.  The  Germanic  poets  have  not  let 
escape  them  such  a  means  of  preparing  themselves  a  ground 
in  the  minds  of  men,  and  especially  in  the  Anglo  Saxon  po- 
etry do  we  find  very  impressive  examples  of  the  harmony  be- 
tween place  and  action." 

These  two  German  authors  agree  in  granting  a  background 
use  of  Nature  in  the  -very  early  poetry, — Norse  and  Anglo 
Saxon.  But  Eiining  says  further  (p.278),  "On  German  ground 
we  have  likewise  a  number  of  such  cases  of  agreement  in  set- 
ting and  action,"  citing  in  evidence  from  Tristan  and  Isolde 
and  other  middle  German  Epics.  Upon  the  whole,  however, 
it  seems  that  a  nature- background  is  not  common  even  in 
the  middle  German  Epic. 

Why,  it  may  be  asked,  does  the  use  of  Nature  as  a  sym- 
pathetic background  to  human  action  or  emotion  appear  in 
this  early  literature,  and  fail  from  a  later  period  in  the  same 
fields  ?  Is  it  not  evidence  against  an  orderly  development  in 
the  nature-sense?  This  explanation  is  suggested  in  answer. 
The  Norse  and  Saxon  mythology  is  very  like  that  of  the 
Greeks  in  its  richness  and  scope,  especially  in  its  pantheistic 
interpretation  of  Nature.  Behind  the  phenomena  of  Nature 
were  the  gods.  Odin  was  in  every  movement  of  the  air. 
When  it  thundered  it  was  Thor  with  his  hammer.  To  these 
old  singers  it  was  not  so   much  Nature,    as   we   accept   her 


IN    THB   GERMAN   LYRIC  97 

today,  as  it  was  the  manifestation  of  gods  with  human  qual- 
ities. They  had,  therefore,  in  their  mythology  lifted  Nature 
from  the  inanimate,  and  given  her  a  manifold  human  per- 
sonality. Their  treatment  of  Nature  was  the  classic  treat- 
ment at  bottom.  With  the  conquests  of  Charlemagne  about 
800  A.  D.  began  the  wane  of  mythology  and  the  w^axing  of 
Christianity.  The  early  writings  came  under  the  influence 
of  mythology,  the  later  writing  in  the  new  order  of  things, 
when  Nature  had,  in  the  minds  of  men,  been  robbed  of  her 
mythical  personality,  and  had  lain  for  a  long  while  voiceless. 
The  difference  between  the  Saxon  poem  and  the  middle  Ger- 
man poem  is  due  to  the  same  causes  which,  operating  through 
longer  time,  replaced  in  literature  the  Greek  interpretation 
of  Nature  by  the  modern.  The  middle  German  nature-sense 
was  not  a  continuation  of  the  Norse  and  Saxon.  It  was  a 
new  growth  in  new  fields,  and  had  to  have  its  slow  begin- 
nings. 

It  would  be  an  anachronism, if  we  found  in  the  Minnesingers 
a  prominent  nature- background.  We  find,  in  fact,  a  great 
poverty.  The  old  singer  rarely  gives  a  nature-setting  to  his 
persons.  His  very  use  of  Nature  precludes  such.  He  rarely 
brings  Nature  and  man  together  in  a  picture.  It  is  either  a 
comparison  of  Nature  and  woman  by  figures,  or,  rarely  an 
ode  to  some  phase  of  Nature.  He  rarely  blends  human  ac- 
tion and  nature-effect.  When  he  does  so,  it  is  a  simple, 
idyllic  picture  as  for  instance  when  Steimar  describes  his  mis- 
tress as  going  out  into  the  meadow  to  gather  flowers, 

Nu  nimt  si  uf  die  heide  ir  ganc 
in  des  meien  kleider, 
Da  si  bluomen  zeinem  kranze 
brichet  den  si  zuo  dem  tanze 
tragen  wil. 

(D.  Iv.  page  241.) 

or  in  Tanhtiser's  really  roniintic  description  of  his  sweet- 
heart sitting  by  a  fountain  in  the  wood,  which  reminds  us 
^her  of  St.  Pierre, 

Ein  riviere  icli  da  gesach, 
durch  den  fores  gienc  ein  bach 


98  THB  db;vki.opmknt  of  the;  nature-sense 

zetal  iiber  ein  planiure. 

ich  sleich  ir  nach  unz  ich  si  fant  die  schoenen  creatiure. 

bi  dem  fontane  saz  diu  klare  siieze  von  faitiure. 

(D.  L.,  page  193); 

Walter  gives  us  a  pleasant  picture — a  summer  idyl — in  his 
'  'Traumbedeutuug, ' '  where  on  a  hot  day  he  comes  to  a  spring 
by  the  wood  and  falls  to  sleep  under  a  tree  by  the  spring, 
while  the  birds  are  singing  near  by,  and  the  meadow-flowers 
blooming; 

Do  der  sumer  komen  was 

und  die  bluomeu  durch  daz  gras 

wiinnecliche  entsprungen, 

alda  die  vogele  suugen, 

dar  kom  ich  gegangen 

an  einen  anger  langen; 

da  ein  luter  brunne  enspranc; 

vor  dem  walde  was  sin  ganc, 

da  diu  nahtegale  sane 

Bi  dem  brunnen  stuont  ein  boum, 

da  gesach  ich  einen  troum. 

(Page  14.^ 

Such  examples  as  the  following  from  Kristan  are  not 
uncommon, 

Wunneclichen  sol  man  schouwen, 
meien  schiu  iiber  elliu  lant, 
Vogele  singent  in  den  ouwen 
die  man  dicke  truric  vant. 
Swa  e  lac  vil  toup  diu  heide, 
d^  siht  man  schoen  ougen  weide; 
nust  miu  liehter  meigen  tac  ; 

(D.  L,  page  138.) 

But  this  is  not  background  use  of  Nature,  since  no  person 
really  appears  upon  the  scene.  It  is  contemplation  of  the 
landscape  from  without,  not  a  mingling  of  Nature  and  hu- 
man action.  The  human  element  is  thus  usually  held  aloof 
from  Nature  by  these  poets. 

Let  us  consider  this  element  as  found  in  the  later  poets. 

Heine  approaches  nearer  to  the  simple  love  idyl  of  the.Qld 
singers  than  perhaps  any  other  of  the  later  period.  Tliis 
might  well  be  a  translation  of  some  minnesong, 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  99 

Der  Mond  ist  aufgegangen 

Und  iiberstrahlt  die  Well'ii; 

Ich  halte  mein  lyiebchen  umfaiigen. 

Und  nnsre  Herzen  schweH'n, 

(I.  page  loo.) 

This  stanza  from  Uland's  "Die  Nonne,"  maybe  taken  as 
a  companion  picture; 

Im  stilleu  Klostergarten 
Eine  bleiche  Jungfrau  ging; 
Der  Mond  bescliien  sie  triibe, 
An  ihrer  Wimper  hing 
Die  Thrane  zarter  Liebe. 

(Page  1 20.) 

The  same  nature-setting  in  part  is  used  in  both  pictures,  and 
yet  the  tones  in  the  two  pictures  are  diametrically  opposite. 
Each  poet  has  shown  a  mastery  in  the  use  of  Nature.  In 
both  cases  it  is  moonlight,  but  notice  how  a  few  touches 
change  the  tone.  The  first  is  by  the  shore  and  the  waves 
are  touched  by  the  gentle  moon — the  setting  for  happy  love. 
The  second  is  in  the  still  cloister  garden  and  the  feeble  moon- 
beams touch  a  pale  face — the  setting  for  blighted  love. 

Biirger  paints  a  pastoral  in  seven  words, 

Ein  niedlich  Schafermadchen  stand 
Am  klaren  Wiesenbache. 

(Page  24.) 

Heine  in  ''Erklarung"  catches  admirably  the  spirit  of  the 
place  when  he  blends  "Heimweh"  and  twilight  falling  over 
the  rippling  sea; 

Herangedammert  kam  der  Abend, 
Wilder  toste  die  Flut. 
Und  ich  sass  am  Strande,  und  schaute  zu 
Dem  weissen  Tanz  der  Wellen, 
Und  meine  Brust  schwoll  auf  wie  das  Meer, 
Und  sehnend  ergriff  mich  ein  tiefes  Heimweh, 

(I.  page  170.) 

Eiining  cites  a  parallel  passage  in  "Cynewulf,"  where  An- 
drean,  sorrow  laden,  goes  at  twilight  over  the  sanddunes 
along  the  breakers;  and  refers  to  the  passage  in  Homer 
where  Odysseus  sits  by  the  waving  sea  and  longs  for  home. 


lOO  THE   DKVfiLOPMKNT  OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

For  the  same  in  painting  see  Bocklin's  (b.  1827)  "Villa  am 
Meer." 

The  moderns  are  more  versatile  than  the  old  poets  in  their 
use  of  Nature,  finding  a  background  for  other  moods  than 
love  aud  longing.  Here  is  a  setting  for  death-lament,  taken 
from  Chamisso's  "Todesklage"; 

Windsbraut  tobet  unverdrossen 
Eule  schreiet  in  den  Klippen — 
Weh!  Euch  hat  der  Tod  geschlossen 
Blaue  Augen,  ros'ge  Eippen! 

(Page  So) 

This  background  which  Korner  paints  for  the  funeral  pro- 
cession needs  no  comment , 

■  Die  Erde  schweigt  mit  tiefem,  tiefem  Trauern, 
Vom  leisen  Geisterhauch  der  Nacht  umfliistert; 
Horch  wie  der  Sturm  in  alter  Eichen  knistert 
Und  heuleud  braust  durch  die  verfall'nen  Mauern. 

Auf  Grabern  liegt,  als  wollt'er  ewig  dauern, 
Ein  tiefer  Schnee,  der  Erde  still  verschwistert, 
Und  finst'rer  Nebel,  der  die  Nacht  umdustert, 
Umarmt  die  Welt  mit  kalten  Todesschauern. 

Es  blickt  der  Silbermond  in  bleichem  Zittern 
Mit  stiller  Wehmut  durch  die  oden  Fenster: — 
Auch' seiner  Strahlen  sanftes  Eicht  vergliiht! — 

Und  leicht  und  langsam  zu  des  Kirchthors  Gittern 
Still  wie  das  Wandern  nachtlicher  Gespenster, 
Ein  Leichenzug  mit  Geisterschritten  zieht. 

(Page  99.) 

Quite  a  different  mood  is  seen  in  Eenau's  "Abendbilder," 
where  the  background  is  made  to  accord  with  the  spirit  of 
prayer  in  the  foreground.  It  is  evening  in  the  picture:  the 
sun  is  sinking  over  the  forest:  the  meadow  is  hushed;  scarce 
is  the  low  twinkling  of- the  bells  audible  as  the  herd  slowly 
crop  the  grass:  the  simple  shepherd,  turning  towards  the  set- 
ting sun,  lets  fall  his  flute  and  his  staff,  while  he  folds  his 
hands  in  silent  prayer, — an  Angelus  in  words, — 


IN   THE  GERMAN   I,YRIC  lOI 

Schon  verstummt  die  Matte:  den  satten  Rindern 
Selten  nur  enthallt  das  Geglock  am  Halse, 
Und  es  pfliickt  der  wahlende  Zahn  nurjassig 
Dunklere  Graser. 

Und  dort  blickt  der  schuldlose  Hirt  der  Sonne 
Sinnend  nacli;  dem  Sinnenden  jetzt  entf alien 
Flot'und  Stab,  es  falten  die  Hande  sich  zum 
Stillen  Gebete. 

(Page  97.) 

The  following  selections  from  lycnau  are  unusual,  because 
they  show  the  use  of  nature-background  not  to  heighten  the 
effect  of  human  foreground,  but  to  give  a  fitting  frame  for 
some  individual  aspect  in  the  landscape  itself.  In  the  first 
the  "forsaken,  silent  forest-chapel"  is  almost  human,  so 
strongly  does  it  suggest  a  melancholy  mood,  there  under  the 
shadow  of  the  mountain  at  sunset  of  a  bleak  November  day, 
the  dead  leaves  of  autumn  driven  past  it  in  the  wind; 

Der  dunkle  Wald  umrauscht  den  Wiesengrund, 
Gar  diister  liegt  der  graue  Berg  dahinter; 
Das  diirre  lyaub,  der  Windhauch  giebt  es  kund, 
Geschritten  kommt  allmhalich  schon  der  Winter. 

Dort  wo  die  Eiche  rauscht  am  Bergesfuss, 
Wo  bang  voriiberklagt  des  Baches  Welle, 
Dort  winket  wie  aus  alter  Zeit  ein  Gruss, 
Die  langst  verlassne,  stille  Waldkapelle. 

(Page  142. 

The  foreground  of  the  second  is  likewise  taken  from  the 
landscape  itself,  but  here  it  is  a  castle-ndn.  How  admirably 
does  the  poet,  by  his  choice  of  setting,  distinguish  between 
the  neglected  chapel  and  the  ruined  castle.  The  one  is  of 
the  present,  the  other  is  of  the  past.  Therefore  the  bleak 
day  is  the  setting  of  the  first;  the  still  moonlit  summer  night 
and  the  sighing  in  the  fir  trees — the  spirits'  hour — is  the 
setting  of  the  second. — 

Vom  Berge  schaut  hinaus  ins  tiefe  Schweigen 
Der  Mond  beseelten  schonen  Sommernacht 
Die  Burgruine:  und  in  Tannenzweigen 
Hinseufzt  ein  Liiftchen,  das  allein  bewacht 


I02        THE  de;vei,opment  of  the  nature-sense 

Die  triimmervolle  Einsamkeit, 

Den  bangen  I^aut:   "Verganglichkeit!" 

(Page  152) 

A  not  infrequent  treatment  of  nature-background  is  con- 
trast, where  the  foreground  is  brought  out  in  greater  relief 
by  contrasted  setting— the  obverse  of  the  above  cited  treat- 
ment. The  old  poets'  use  of  contrast  leaves  us  in  doubt  as  to 
whether  they  intended  a  landscape  effect,  or  merely  a  con- 
trast between  moods  not  brought  really  upon  the  same  can- 
vass: as  when  Wintersteten  says, 

Berc  und  tal  in  alien  landen 
sint  erlost  uz  winters  banden 
heide  rote  rosen  treit. 
sich  froit  al  diu  welt  gemeine, 
niemen  truret  wan  ich  eine. 

(D.  L.,  page  163.) 

Or  when  Walter  von  Klingen  says, 

Heide  ist  aber  worden  schoene, 
si  hat  manger  hande  varwe  kleit; 

Vogele  singent  siieze  doene. 

swie  diu  sumerwunne  ist  vil  gemeit, 

Da  bi  dulde  ich  sendiu  leit. 

(D.  L.,  page  219.) 

The  landscape  is  there  but  instead  of  the  individual  clearly 
drawn  in  the  foreground,  we  have  a  shadowy  suggestion  of 
his  presence  there. 

A  like  example  from  Kuonrat  der  junge  will  be  sufficient 
to  show  the  very  doubtful  use  of  background  by  these 
singers  ; 

Der  mei  wil  uns  ergetzen  wol 
mit  manigem  wiinneclichen  tage: 
des  ist  diu  welt  gar  froiden  vol. 
Was  hilfet  mich  diu  sumerzit  ? 

(D.  Iv.,  page  220.) 

These  selections  might  almost  as  fittingly  have  been  given 
under  "Contrasted  mood,"  so  separately  are  the  personal 
and  natural  features  treated. 

Drummond  says  in  his  Addresses  (p.  113)  "Two 
painters  each  painted  a  picture  to  illustrate  his  conception  of 


IN  THB   GERMAN   I,YRIC  103 

rest.  The  first  chose  for  his  scene  a  still,  lone  lake  among 
the  far  off  mountains.  The  second  threw  on  his  canvas  a 
thundering  waterfall  with  a  fragile  birch  tree  bending  over 
the  foam  ;  at  the  fork  of  a  branch  almost  wet  with  the  cata- 
ract's spray,  a  robin  sat  on  its  nest."  Both  these  conceptions 
appear  in  the  literary  art  of  the  i8th  and  19th  centuries — 
effect  by  harmony  ;  effect  by  contrast.  Of  the  latter  I^enau 
gives  an  illustration  in  these  lines,  in  which  he  represents  a 
man  in  reverie  beneath  the  beetling  cliff  where  wild  the  brook 
is  leaping  down  ; 

Dort  am  steilen  Klippenhange, 
Wo  der  Wildbach  niederschaumt, 
lychnt  beim  Sonnenuntergange 
Einsam  still  ein  Mann — und  traumt. 

(Page  54.) 

and  again  when  he  makes  the  traveller  drink  in  rest,  lying 
beneath  the  towering,  ice-harnessed  giants  of  the  Alps  ; 

Alpen,  o  wie  starkte  mich  die  Rast, 
lyagernd  auf  dem  weichen  Griin  der  Wiesen, 
Krauterdiifte  fachelten  den  Gast, 
Eisgeharnischt  ragten  eure  Riesen. 

(Page  272.) 

Korner  paints  a  like  contrast  in  the  village  nestling  in  the 
still  valley,  while  behind  are  the  mountain,  the  dark  fii -for- 
est, and  the  rushing  stream  ; 

Freundlich  an  dem  Berggehange 
In  des  Thales  stiller  Enge, 
Freundlich,  wie  ich  keines  sah, 
Liegt  das  liebe  Dorfchen  da. 

Oben  auf  des  Berges  Hohen, 
Alte,  dunkle  Fichten  stehen, 
Unten  rauscht  der  Strom  vorbei, 
Und  die  I^uft  ist  mild  und  frei. 

(Page  133.) 

A  highly  dramatic  blending  of  Nature  and  human  action 
would  fall  rather  into  the  field  of  the  play  writer  than  of  the 
lyrist.  Instance  the  weird  witch-scene,  the  thunder  and 
lightning,  with  which  Shakspere  ushers  us  into  "Macbeth." 


I04  the;   DEVEI.OPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Hear  the  mad  old  King  I^ear  in  his  ravings  provoke  the 
bursting  storm. 

Blow,  winds,  and  crack  your  cheeks  !  rage  !  blow  ! 

You  cataracts  and  hurricanes,  shout 

Till  you  have  drench' d  our  steeples,  drowned  the  cocks  ! 

This  dramatic  use  of  Nature  is  seen  in  Schiller's  "Tell," 
where  the  brewing  storm  prepares  the  way  for  the  precipi- 
tate appearance  of  Baumgarten  pursued  by  the  tyrant's 
horsemen;  and  again  when  the  calm  sunrise  on  the  Riitli 
foretells  the  happy  outcome  of  the  confederacy. 

Goethe's  masterly  use  of  background  is  shown  nowhere 
better  than  in  "Faust ;"  first,  on  the  occasion  of  Valentine's 
murder,  when  Faust  says  as  if  in  premonition  of  the  crime, 

Wie  von  dem  Fenster  dort  der  Sakristei 
Aufwarts  der  Schein  des  ewgen  Lampchens  fiammert 
Und  schwach  und  schwacher  seitwarts  dammert, 
Und  Finsternis  drangt  ringsum  bei, 
So  siehts  in  meinem  Busen  nachtig  ! 

(Ill,  page  164.) 

and  again  in  the  weird  brocken-scene,  and  lastly  at  the  Rab- 
enstein,  which  in  its  uncanniness  and  omen,  suggests  the 
witch-scene  of  "Macbeth," — 

F.     Was  weben  die  dort  um  den  Rabenstein  ? 

M.     Weiss  nicht,  was  sie  kochen  und  schaffen. 

F.     Schweben  auf,  schweben  ab,  neigen  sich,  beugen  sich. 

M.     Eine  Hexenzunft. 

(Ill,  page  200.) 

Among  the  lyrists  we  find,  however,  examples  almost  as 
strongly  dramatic  as  these.  Chamisso  prepares  the  way  for 
a  suicide  scene  by  depicting  the  background  in  these  lines, 

Zu  des  Meeres  dunkleu  Schosse 
Senkte  trauernd  blut'gen  Scheines, 
Sturmverkundend  sich  die  Sonne. 
Nachtlich  hebet  dumpf  herbrausend 
Sich  des  Sturmes  wilder  Fittich. 
In  dem  Streifen  roher  Winde 
Ziehn  die  Wolken,  oft  des  Mondes 
Silberstrahleu  nachtlich  hemmend. 

(Page  389.) 


I 


IN    THE    GERMAN    I^YRIC  I05 

Lenau  prepares  the  reader's  mind  for  the  self-destruction 
of  the  Indian  chief  at  Niagara,  by  this  introduction, 

Machtig  ziinit  der  Himmel  im  Gewitter, 
Schmettert  manche  Reiseneich'in  Splitter, 
tjbertont  des  Niagara  Stimme, 
Und  mit  seiner  Blitze  Flammenruten 
Peitscht  er  schneller  die  beschaumten  Fluten, 
Dass  sie  stiirzen  mit  emportem  Grimme. 

(Page  116.) 

The  poets  use  contrast,  also,  to  lend  greater  force  to  the 
action  which  is  to  occupy  the  foreground. 

Korner  prefaces  a  description  of  battle  with  a  moonlit 
scene  and  the  sleeping  world, 

Es  schweigt  die  Nacht,  die  Erde  traumt, 
Und  bleich  der  Mond  die  Wolken  saumt.  — 
Was  bist  du  Welt,  so  still,  so  leer? 
Was  lau'rst  du  wie  ein  falsches  Meer  ? 
Es  saust  so  ode  durch  dein  Reich 
Und  Schauder  fasst  die  Seele,  gleich 
Als  wolltest  du  mit  leisem  Beben 
Des  Morgens  blut'gen  Schleier  heben. 

(Page  12.) 

Even  in  the  peaceful  scene  there  is  felt  a  premonition  of 
something  terrible  impending — a  calm  which  precedes  the 
storm  and  almost  heralds  it.  For  a  like  effect  compare  Dun- 
can's interpretation  of  the  scene  as  he  enters  the  castle  of 
Macbeth  on  the  fatal  evening; 

This  castle  has  a  pleasant  seat ;  the  air 
Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentle  senses. 

(Macbeth,  Act  i,  Sc.  vi) 

which  heightens  the  effect  of  the  coming  events  as  portended 
by  lady  Macbeth' s  words  from  within  the  castle  walls, 

.     .     .     The  raven  himself  is  hoarse 
That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Under  mv  battlements. 

(Act  I,  vSc.  V.) 

In  the  first  scene  of  "Tell"  the  dramatic  use  of  contrast  is 
equally  strong.     The  play  opens  by  the  lake  in  a  quiet  sunlit 


IC6  THE   DBVBI,OPMENT   OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

scene.  A  fisher-boy  in  his  boat  is  singing  to  the  melody  of 
the  "Kuhreihen," 

Es  lachelt  der  See,  es  ladet  zum  Bade, 
Der  Knabe  schlief  ein  am  griinen  Gestade, 

and  the  herdsman  answers  from  the  mountain  side  with  a  va- 
riation of  the  same  melody.  Then  immediately  the  land- 
scape changes,  and  before  the  first  pleasant  picture  can  fade 
from  the  reader's  mind,  the  storm  has  broken  over  the  scene, 
Baumgarten  has  rushed  up  escaping  for  his  life,  a  violent 
scene  on  the  shore  is  followed  by  Tell  and  Baumgarten  in  a 
boat  battling  against  wind  and  wave. 

The  gap  is  clearly  widening  more  and  more  between  the 
old  singers  and  the  new  as  we  compare  them  in  the  progress 
of  the  nature-sense. 


IX— LANDSCAPE. 

Landscape,  or  the  consideration  of  Nature  for  itself  and 
not  as  accessory  to  man,   belongs  to  the  period  of  full  and 
complete  development  of  the  nature-sense.     It  is,  in  its  own 
completeness,  the  last  word  on  Nature.     It  demands  in  the 
writer  or  artist  an  ability  to  apprehend  Nature  in  its  largeness 
and  breadth,  and  too  its  depth  ;  an  ability  to  see  clearly  not 
only  minor  things,   the  flowers  and  trees  and  streams  of  the 
foreground,  but  also  broad  sweeps  of  earth  and  sky,  mountains 
and  the  great  clouds,  which  fill  in  the  background  on  Na- 
ture's picture  ;  ability  to  see  not  only   the  individuals,   but 
the  scene  in  its  tout  ensemble.     The  proportion,  the  relations, 
the  perspective,  the  depth,  the  atmosphere,  all  enter  into  the 
landscape,  whether  in  Nature  or  in  its  artistic  reproduction. 
And  this  whole  must  be  apprehended  not  as  dead,  but  as  liv- 
ing and  breathing  and  having  expression.     Landscape  would 
therefore,  naturally  come,  in  the  progress  of  the  nature-sense, 
after  the  use  of  Nature  as  background.     It  would  be,  indeed, 
only  a  development  of  this  use  of  Nature  ;  only  an  accentua- 
tion of  the  background  instead  of  the  foreground,  the  assign- 
ing of  greater  importance  to   the  setting  as  compared  with 
the  thing  set.    An  examination,  especially  of  painting,  shows 
that  such  a  gradual  transition  really  took  place.     Symonds 
says,  (p.  304),  "Clinging  still  to  the  tradition  that  some  his- 
torical or  mythological  subject  is  required  to  make  up  a  pict- 
ure, these  masters  introduce  Abraham,  Odysseus,  a  sacrifice 
to  Pan,  or  possibly  S.  Jerome  with  his  skull,   somewhere  in 
their  composition.     But  the  relation  between  the  human  mo- 
tive and  the  landscape  is  reversed.     The  former,  which  had 
hitherto  been  all-important,  is  now  subordinated  to  the  lat- 
ter.    The  artist's  energies  are  bestowed  on  working  out  the 
scene,  the  atmospheric  luminocity,  the  open  champlain,  the 
massive  foliage,  and   the   mighty   clouds.     The   figures   are 
carelessly  sketched  in,  and  little  heed  is  paid  to  emphasizing 
their  action." 


io8        the;  drvei^opmkn't  op  thk  nature-sknsb 

He  is  speaking  of  Rubens,  Claude,  the  two  Poussins 
and  Salvator  Rosa,  and  therefore  of  the  last  stages  of  this 
transition  in  painting,  for  Claude  and  S.  Rosa,  at  least,  are 
sometimes  called  the  first  pure  landscape-artists.  Their  paint- 
ings show  the  fading  out  of  the  human  foreground  from 
canvas. 

But  what  qualities  has  our  investigation  showed  us  thus 
far  in  the  nature-sense  of  the  Minnesinger?  We  have  found, 
as  already  indicated,  that  he  notices  minor  things,  the  indi- 
viduals of  the  scene,  birds,  flowers,  brooks,  things  usually- 
near  at  hand,  such  features  as  would  enter  into  the  making 
of  a  foreground  ;  that  he  omits  the  larger  features  such  as 
broad  expanses  of  earth  or  sky  ;  that  he  does  not  mention 
mountains  nor  extended  woods  nor  clouds,  such  features  as 
would  enter  into  the  background.  Under  these  limitations, 
his  landscape,  if  he  drew  one,  could  not  be  otherwise  than 
simple  and  flat.  Biese,  (p.  233)  has  very  aptly  put 
the  general  case  in  these  words,  "A  landscape  painting  will 
not  be  possible  in  times  and  and  among  people  .  .  .  who 
grasp  only  the  individual,  who  consider  only  brooks  and 
flowers,  grasses  and  dew-drops,  who  without  reference  to 
the  whole  landscape,  offer  mere  foreground  without  distance, 
as  is  the  case  in  the  middle  ages  until  the  renaissance  in  po- 
etry." 

Professor  Palgrave  properly  confesses  to  a  limited  knowl- 
edge of  the  Minnesingers  when  he  makes  this  statement  ; 
(p.  79)  "It  is  indeed  only  among  the  once  famous  Minnesinger 
school  of  the  12th  and  13th  centuries,  so  far  as  my  limited 
knowledge  goes,  that  a  distinctive  landscape  element  is 
found."  In  factjthere  is  almost  no  landscape  element  in  the 
writings  of  this  school,  as  will  be  indicated  by  selections 
below- 

A  glance  at  the  "Naturanschauuug"  in  painting  may  not 
be  inapropos  just  here,  since  this  art  runs  almost  parallel  with 
literature  as  a  medium  of  expression.  That  the  Greek 
school  made  use  of  Nature  as  a  background  in  painting  is 
proven  by  the  surviving  vestiges  of  that  school  in  the  fresco 
paintings  of  Pompeii.     But  from  the  Christian  era  until  well 


IN    THB   GERMAN   LYRIC  109 

into  the  14th  century  there  is  almost  no  recognition  of  Na- 
ture.    The  old  painters  gave  to  their  figures  a  background 
of  gold.     These  works  are  almost  without  exception  relig- 
ious in  subject,      "But  at  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  cent- 
ury," says  Ruskin,  "Giotto,  and  in  the  course  of  the  four- 
teenth, Arcogna,  sought  for  the  first  time,  to  give  some  re- 
semblance to  Nature  in  their  backgrounds  and  introduced 
behind    their     figures     pieces    of     true    landscape,    formal 
enough,  but  complete  in  intention."     (Lectures   on   Archi- 
tecture and  Painting,  lecture  III.)     With  the  advent  of  Ra- 
phael   (1483- 1 520)    and    his   contemporaries  nature   back- 
ground had  advanced  somewhat  as  may  be  seen  in  his  '  'Trans- 
figuration,"     "Mount     Parnassus,"     and     "Madonna     of 
Foligno,"  in  the  Vatican;  and  also  from  the  works  of  his 
master  Perugino.     This  tendency  to  Nature  in  art  developed 
in  the  different  schools  at  different  paces.     Miss  Reynolds 
says  that  in  the  English  school  up  to  1725,   "even  a  landscape 
background  is  of  rare  occurrence. ' '     Biese  says  that  in  the 
Dutch  school  landscape  was  considered  for  its  own  sake  as 
early  as  Rubens  (i 577-1 640).     Claude  Lorraine  (i 600-1 682) 
of  the  French,  and  Salvator  Rosa  (1615-1673)  of  the  Italian 
school  are  considered  as  landscape  painters.     These  meagre 
data  will  serve  to  give  us  an  idea   as  to  the  date  of  the  ap- 
pearance of  Nature  in  art  and  its  rapid  growth  in  certain 
ground.     It  seems  that  in   the   15th  century  the  time  was 
ripe  ;  but  it  had  not  occurred  to  the  old  masters  "that  laud- 
scape  might  be  treated  as  an  object  in  itself." 

But  the  Minnesingers  belong  to  the  12th  and  13th  centu- 
ries, full  two  hundred  years  before  Rapheal.  We  can  hardly 
expect  in  them  a  distinctive  landscape  element.  Let  us  ex- 
amine their  utterances  in  this  field  first  hand,  and  see  if  these 
conclusions  are  in  accordance  with  facts. 

Walter's  single  landscape,  if  such  it  can  be  called,  is  con- 
tained in  these  lines, 

Ich  saz  uf  einen  griienen  le, 

da  ensprungen  bluomen  unde  kle 

zwischen  mir  und  einem  se. 


no  THK   DKVKLOPM^NT  OP  THE   NATURE-SENSE 

der  ougenweide  ist  da  niht  me  : 
da  wir  schapel  brachen  e, 
da  lit  nu  rife  unde  sne. 
daz  tuot  den  vogellineu  we. 

(Page  8.) 

This  is  but  the  veriest  skeleton  of  a  landscape.  It  is  only 
a  picture  drawn  in,  as  if  the  artist  had  said,  "I  shall  paint  a 
picture  with  flowers  and  clover  in  the  foreground  and  beyond 
the  meadow  some  water. ' '  It  has  not  been  filled  in.  There 
is  no  coloring,  no  "atmosphere,"  no  depth  :  it  is  a  flat  sur- 
face, which  only  makes  us  wonder  what  the  picture  would  be. 
We  of  today  can  so  easily  fill  it  in  that  we  are  in  danger  of 
thinking  it  is  full. 

Nithart  gives  us  just  such  another  sketch  in  these  words, 

Komen  ist  uns  ein  liehtiu  ongenweide 
man  siht  der  r6senwunder  uf  der  heide  ; 
die  bluomen  dringen  durch  daz  gras. 
wie  schone  ein  wise  getouwet  was, 
da  mir  min  geselle  zeinem  kranze  las  ! 

(D.  L.,  page  109) 

This  is  a  foreground  solely,  where  roses  fill  the  meadow. 
The  poet  keeps  his  eye  to  earth  so  persistently  that  we  almost 
wonder  if  there  were  no  distance  to  him,  no  horizon, no  serrate 
rim  where  earth  and  heaven  meet,  no  clouds.  He  never  gets 
beyond  the  individual  in  his  picture,  and  this  individual  is 
the  simplest,  most  patent  that  Nature  affords. 

lyiutolt  von  Savene  furnishes  another  example  of  early 
landscape  attempt ; 

In  dem  walde  und  uf  der  griienen  heide 
meiet  ez  so  rehte  wol. 
Daz  man  sich  der  lieben  ougenweide 
wol  von  schulden  troesten  sol  : 

(D.  L,.,  page  126.) 

The  Minnesinger  praises  the  "ougenweide" — the  "pas- 
ture for  the  eyes,"  but  despite  his  passing  praise  his  eyes 
seem  never  to  have  found  great  sustenance  there,  for  they 
return  ever  and  and  anon  to  '  'pasture' '  upon  his  mistress. 
In  the  above  cited  lines  there  is  the  usual  simplicity.  We 
should  scarcely  take  the  description  of  the  first  two  lines  to 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  III 

be  that  of  a  landscape,  if  he  did  not  label  it  as  such  in  the 
the  third  line. 

Toggenburc  makes  a  bundle  of  the  landscape  and  throws 
it  in  as  not  worth  mention  along  with  his  "vrowe," 

Bluomen  loup  kle  berge  und  tal 
und  des  meien  sumersiieziu  wunne 
Diu  sint  gegen  dem  rosen  val 
s6  min  vrowe  treit. 

(D.  Iv.,  page  200.) 

Kuonrat  der  Schenke  gives  us  this  winter  landscape,  as 
bare  as  the  naked  tree  that  is  not  drawn  by  the  poet, 

wait  und  ouwe  die  sint  val, 
Da  bi  anger  und  diu  heide, 
die  man  sach  in  liehtem  kleide, 
in  den  landen  iiber  al. 

(D.  I,.,  page  232.) 

Der  wilde  Alexander  seems  to  have  in  mind  something 
like  a  picnic  scene  in  these  lines, 

Ich  gedenk  wol  daz  wir  sazen 

in  den  bluomen  unde  mazen 

welch  diu  schoenest  mohte  sin. 

do  schein  unser  kintlich  schin 

mit  dem  niuwen  kranze 

zuo  dem  tanze 

alsus  gat  diu  zit  von  hin. 

Seht  d6  lief  wir  ertber  suochen 

von  der  tannen  zuo  der  buochen 

iiber  stoc  und  iiber  stein 

der  wile  daz  diu  sunne  schein, 

(D.  Iv.,  page  231.) 

There  is  here,  as  elsewhere,  no  landscape  proper  ;  there 
are  only  a  few  objects  immediately  at  hand, — trees  and 
flowers. 

Otte  zem  Turne's  description  has  at  least  the  virtue  of 
brevity  commensurate  with  the  picture, 

Schouwent  wie  diu  heide  lit ; 
liehte  bluomen  sint  entsprungen. 

(D.  L.,  page  286.) 
These  descriptions  of  landscape  represent  the  very  best  the 
Minnesong  affords,  so  far  as  I  have  discovered  it  ;  and  they 


112  THE   DEVELOPMENT  OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

show  that  our  inference  regarding  the  landscape  of  this  liter- 
ature was  not  far  wrong. 

Let  us  consider  now  briefly  landscape  as  found  after  five 
hundred  years  in  the  literature  of  the  same  people.  Goethe 
in  "  Wilkommen  und  Abschied,"  describes  a  night  scene," 

Der  Abend  wiegte  schon  die  Brde, 
Und  an  den  Bergen  hing  die  Nacht ; 
Schon  stand  im  Nebelkleid  die  Biche 
Ein  aufgetiirmter  Riese  da, 
Wo  Finsternis  aus  dem  Gestrauche 
Mit  hundert  schwarzen  Augen  sah. 

Der  Mond  von  einem  Wolkenhiigel 
Sah  klaglich  aus  dem  Duft  hervor, 
Die  Winde  schwaugen  leise  Fliigel 
Umsausten  schauerlich  mein  Ohr. 

(I,  page  45.) 

In  this  scene  all  is  intended  to  be  obscure,  but  there  is 
clearness  in  the  obscurity.  There  is  no  vagueness  in  con- 
ception such  as  appeared  in  the  early  period,  but  only  the 
obscurity  of  night,  through  the  veil  of  which  we  can  see  the 
individual  features.  There  are  the  mountains  through  the 
gloom,  and  the  giant  oak  wrapped  in  the  mist  like  a  spectre 
in  its  shroud,  and  the  struggling  moon-beams  :  and  even  the 
soft  beating  of  the  unseen  wings,  that  makes  the  scene 
breathe  with  a  sigh.  Nature  sometimes  paints,  like  Par- 
rhasius,  a  veil  over  her  picture,  but  we  can  always  see  the 
face  behind.  She  is  never  vague.  The  painter  tnay  be. 
Herder  gives  a  similar  veiled  picture  in  "Abendlied"  ; 

Der  Mond  ist  aufgegangen, 

Die  Goldnen  Sternlein  prangen 

Am  Himmel  hell  und  klar  : 

Der  Wald  steht  schwarz  und  schweiget 

Und  aus  den  Wiesen  steiget 

Der  weisse  Nebel  wunderbar. 

(II.  page  314.) 

A  beautiful  picture  is  that  which  Goethe  makes  Mignon 
give  of  her  native  land  Italy  ;  it  is  the  voice  of  his  own 
longing  for  the  south-l^ud  ; 


IN    THE   GBRMAN   I,YRIC  II3 

Kennst  du  das  Land  wo  die  Citronen  bliihn, 
Im  dunkeln  I^aub  die  Goldorangen  gliihn, 
Ein  sanfter  Wind  vom  blauen  Himniel  weht, 
Die  Myrte  still  und  hoch  der  I,orbeer  steht. 

(I,  page  106.) 

An  ideal  Italian  landscape — green  trees  and  golden  apples 
kissed  by  the  zephyrs,  and  over  all  the  deep  blue  sky.  In 
"Ilmenau"  he  gives  us  a  kinetoscopic  picture  ;  a  quick  shift- 
ing of  the  scene  ; 

Melodisch  rauscht  die  hohe  Tanne  wieder, 
Melodisch  eilt  der  Wasserfall  hiernieder  ; 
Die  Wolke  sinkt,  der  Nebel  driickt  ins  Thai, 
Und  es  ist  Nacht  und  Dammrung  auf  einmal. 

(I,  page  421.) 

Schiller  describes  in  "Der  Spaziergang"  the  view  which 
greeted  him  from  the  hill-top,  a  description  notable  for  its 
breadth  and  intensity  ; 

Unabsehbar  ergiesst  sich  vor  meinem  Blicke  die  Feme, 
Und  ein  blaues  Berg  endigt  im  Dufte  die  Welt. 
Tief  an  des  Berges  Fuss,  der  gahlings  unter  mir  abstiirzt, 
Wallet  des  griinlichten  Stroms  fliessender  Spiegel  vorbei. 
Endlos  unter  mir  seh  ich  den  Aether,  iiber  mir  endlos, 
Blicke  mit  Schwindeln   hinauf ,  blicke  mit  Schaudern  hinab. 
Aber  zwischen  der  ewigen  Hoh  und  der  ewigen  Tiefe 
Tragt  ein  gelanderter  Steig  sicher  den  Wandrer  dahin. 
I^achend  fliehen  an  mir  die  reichen  Ufer  voriiber 
Und  den  frohlichen  Fleiss  riihmet  das  prangende  Thai. 
Jene  I^inien,  sieh  !  die  des  I^andmanns  Eigentum  scheiden, 
In  den  Teppich  der  Flur  hat  sie  Demeter  gewirkt. 

(I,  page  224.) 

Claude  L,orraine  nor  Salvator  Rosa  could  have  desired  a 
wider  compass  than  is  found  in  these  lines,  nor  a  more  exqui- 
site blending  of  the  sublime  and  the  idyllic  on  a  single  can- 
vas. 

Heine,  the  poet  of  the  sea  par  excellence,  gives  us  in  "Die 
Nordsee,  this  graphic  seascape, 

Wie  schwarzgriine  Rosse  mit  silbernen  Mahnen 
Sprangen  die  weissgekniuselten  Wellen  ; 
Wie  Schwanenziige  schifften  voriiber 
Mit  schimmernden  Segeln  die  Helgolauder 


114  1*HE   DEVKLOPMENT  OF   THE   NATURE-SENSE 

Die  kecken  Nomaden  der  Nordsee  ! 

Ueber  mir,in  dem  ewigen  Blau, 

Flatterte  weisses  Gewolk 

Und  prangte  die  ewige  Sonne, 

Die  Rose  des  Himmels,  die  feuerbliihende, 

Die  freudvoll  im  Meer  sich  bespiegelte, 

(I,  page  igr.) 

Biirger,  who  loved  rather  the  gentler  aspects  of  Nature 
than  the  sterner,  describes  in  the  poem  "Das  Dorfchen"  the 
landscape  in  which  the  little  village  lay, 

Welch  ein  Gefilde  ! 
Kein  Dietrich  fand 
Zu  einem  Bilde 
Den  Gegenstand  ! 
Hier  Felsenwand, 
Dort  Aehrenf elder 
Und  Wiesengriin 
Dem  blaue  Walder 
Die  Grenze  ziehn  ; 
An  jener  Hohe 
Die  Schaferei 
Und  in  der  Nahe 
Mein  Sorgenfrei. 

(Page  30) 

Here  are  sheep  pasturing  on  the  slope,  rocky  walls, 
corn  fields  and  green  meadows  shut  in  by  hlue  woods. 
Heretofore  the  woods  had  been  stereotyped  green  ;  now  the 
poet  puts  them  far  enough  away  from  him  to  be  blue,  a  result 
of  larger  landscape.  Elsewhere  the  poet  gives  us  a  morning 
landscape  of  a  like  tone, 

Die  lyuft  war  rein,  der  Himmel  blau  ; 
Die  Bachlein  flossen  still  und  heiter  ; 
Es  glanzten  Blumen,  Gras  und  Krauter 
Noch  von  Aurorens  Perlentau. 
Die  Sonne  kaum  ein  wenig  weiter 
Als  durch  ein  Viertel  ihrer  Bahn 
Liess  auch  auf  schattenlosem  Plan 
Ihr  Strahlenlicht,  gemildert  von  Zephyren, 
Die  lebende  Natur  nur  noch  zur  Wollust  spiiren. 

(Page  372.) 

lycnau  in  four  lines  draws  a  landscape  which,  in  the  great- 


IN    THE   GERMAN   LYRIC  II 5 

ness  of  its  elements,  reminds  one  of  the  strokes  of  a  Rubens 
or  a  Rembrandt ; 

Schon  ist  der  Berge  Purpurglut  verglommen, 
Und  zitternd  flieht  des  Tages  letzter  Strahl 
Der  Nacht  schon  aus  dem  Wege.     Sei  willkommen, 
O  Dunkelheit,  im  ernsten  Eichenthal  ! 

(Page  75.) 

Here  the  minor  features  of  the  foreground  have  been 
lost  before  the  titanic  movement  in  the  background  ;  the 
mountains,  the  flight  of  day  before  the  night,  and  the 
fall  of  darkness. 

One  of  the  most  perfect  landscape  pictures  in  the  poetry 
of  the  whole  period  is  that  given  by  the  same  writer  in  "Auf 
eine  hollandische  Landschaf  t. ' '  The  gem  is  so  exquisite  that 
I  would  not  mar  it — here  is  the  whole  poem, 

Miide  schleichen  hier  die  Bache 
Nich  ein  Liiftchen  horst  du  wallen. 
Die  entfarbten  Blatter  fallen 
Still  zu  Grund,  vor  Alterschwache. 

Krahen,  kaum  die  Schwingen  regend, 
Streichen  langsam  ;    dort  am  Hiigel 
Lasst  die  Windmuhl' ruhn  die  Fliigel ; 
Ach,  wie  schlafrig  ist  die  Gegend  ! 

Lenz  und  Sommer  sind  verflogen 
Dort  das  Hiittlein,  ob  es  trutze, 
Blickt  nicht  aus,  die  Strohkapuze 
Tief  ins  Aug'  herabgezogen. 

Schlummernd,  oder  trage  sinnend, 
Rulit  der  Hirt  bei  seinen  Schafen, 
Die  Natur  Herbstnebel  spinnend, 
Scheint  am  Rocken  eingeschlafen. 

(Page  179.) 

Saint  Pierre  (1737-18 14)  said  of  the  travellers  of  his  day, 
"If  they  describe  a  country  to  you,  you  will  see  in  it  towns, 
rivers,  mountains  ;  but  their  descriptions  are  as  barren  as  a 
geographic  map  :  Hindostan  resembles  Europe  ;  there  is  no 
character  in  it.''     No  one  could  possibly  mistake  the  above 


Il6  THB   DEVBl,OPMENT   OF   THK   NATURB-SENSE 

description  of  a   Dutch   landscape,    with   its   windmill   and 
thatched-roof  huts. 

The  landscape  of  the  modern  period  is  stamped  with  char- 
acter. IhhsLS  breadth  and  dejyth.  It  has  diversity  and  unity. 
"Quam  fluctus  diversi,  quam  mare  conjucti"  might  be  said  of 
the  features  of  the  19th  century  landscape.  It  embraces  all 
the  phenomena  of  Nature — the  great  and  the  small,  the  far 
and  the  near.  .  It  has  perspective  and  proportion  ;  it  has 
depth  ;  it  is  natural. 


X.-CONCLUSION. 

The  Minnesinger  recognized  in  Nature  first  and  foremost 
that  which  ministered  to  his  physical  comfort — the  spring, 
the  summer,  the  shade  of  the  trees.  Secondly,  he  recognized 
the  simpler  forms  of  beauty — flower,  brook  and  bird.  He 
had  no  eye,  however,  for  largeness  nor  extent.  Nature 
never  became  for  him  a  voice,  nor  a  language.  She  never 
spoke  to  him.  He  looked  upon  her,  within  the  narrow  com- 
pass of  his  view,  but  there  was  never  any  communication. 
There  was,  therefore,  never  a  companionship  between  the 
two.  We  have  indicated  above  (page  67  )  the  gradual  reve- 
lation of  Nature  to  man  as,  "first  a  silence,  then  a  murmur, 
then  a  voice,  then  a  companion."  The  "silence,"  when  man 
saw  only  comfort  or  discomfort;  the  "murmur,"  when  he 
began  to  see  beauty;  the  "voice,"  when  Nature  was  personi- 
fied; the  "companion,"  when  man  found  that  personality 
congenial.  Emerson  classes  Nature  in  an  ascending  scale  of 
Coinrnodity ,  Beauty,  Language,  Discipline.  This  is  notably 
parallel  to  our  classification,  reached  independently  and  in 
another  field. 

The  Minnesinger  never  passed  perceptibly  beyond  the 
first  two  classes.  It  might  seem  that  this  judgment  is  unfair; 
that  the  very  theme  which,  as  a  singer  of  love,  he  treated, 
excluded  from  his  consideration  a  large  field  of  Nature, 
which  he  might,  in  other  circumstances,  have  brought  into 
his  treatment.  This  would  qualify  a  judgment  of  the  old 
poet's  nature-sense  if  he  really  were  solely  a  singer  of  love. 
But  he  did  treat  a  great  variety  of  subjects.  For  instance, 
Walter  furnishes  us  79  Lieder;  thirty  of  these  are  devoted  to 
other  subjects  than  love,  of  which  thirty,  six  are  dedicated 
to  Nature.  The  same  poet  has  given  us  108  Spriiche,  of 
which  three  only  are  devoted  to  love;  the  others  treat  politia, 
the  church,  morality,  friendship,  constancy,  tolerance,  vmr, 
etc.  So  wide  a  range  of  subjects  would  give  great  freedom 
to  the  poet;  and  yet,  as  has  been  already  said,  even  this 
largest  of  the  Minnesingers  scarcely  oversteps  in  his  "Natur- 
anschauung"  the  narrow  limits  of  his  contemporaries.  We 
are  constrained  to  conclude  that  the  nature-sen.se  in  the 
Minnesong  is  fairly  representative  of  the  whole  period. 

The  nature-sense  of  the  modern  period  contains  the  whole 
gamut  of  Nature. 


THE  END. 


yiTft.* 

The  author  of  this  thesis  was  born  and  reared  at  Melton's, 
Virginia.  Until  his  15th  year  he  attended  an  old  field  school, 
where  the  yearly  term  was  six  months.  He  then  attended 
the  graded  school  of  Gordonsville,  Virginia,  beginning  there 
the  study  of  foreign  languages,  and  afterwards  spent  one 
year  in  an  Academy  at  Culpeper,  Virginia.  At  the  age  of 
eighteen  he  began  teaching,  and  after  five  years  en- 
tered the  University  of  Virginia.  At  the  end  of  three  years 
he  graduated  with  the  Bachelor  of  Arts  degree,  having  com- 
pleted, also,  all  the  residence  work  required  for  the  Doctor 
of  Philosophy.  The  Graduate  work  was  in  Latin,  directed 
by  Prof.  W.  E-  Peters,  and  in  the  German  and  French,  direc- 
ted by  the  late  Prof.  W.  H.   Perkinson. 

Immediately  after  graduating  he  was  elected  to  the  chair 
of  German  and  French  in  Wofford  College,  Spartanburg, 
South  Carolina,  where  he  has  since  served. 

In  the  summer  of  1898,  he  spent  a  term  in  the  University 
of  Chicago,  studying  the  Romance  and  Germanic  languages. 
In  1899  he  went  to  Europe  for  a  year's  study.  At  Gottingen 
he  took  work  under  Professors  Heyne  and  Roethe  in  Germanic 
language  and  literature,  under  Professor  Stimming  in  old 
French.  Two  months  were  spent  in  the  University  of  Ber- 
lin to  hear  lectures  on  German  literature  by  Professor  Erich 
Schmidt.  The  summer  of  1900  was  spent  at  Tours,  France, 
in  the  study  of  French. 

The  final  work  of  the  degree  was  directed  and  approved  by 
Professor  Jas.  A.  Harrison,  chair  of  Teutonic  Languages, 
University  of  Virginia. 


*The  Vita  is  appended  by  request  of  Professor  Harrison. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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